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madschiavelique · 11 months

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𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐛𝐢𝐭𝐞 (𝐦𝐢𝐠𝐮𝐞𝐥 𝐨'𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫)

summary : so you were called for back-up on a mission with gwen, hobie, pavitr and miguel. you get him out of a tight situation, he drags you in a dark street, you get back to the team, you get shot in the thigh, and miguel starts sucking on the bullet to get it out of your skin :D (or most simply, how you got wounded and miguel is playing healing vampire)

content warnings : blood, bullet (if there are others please do tell so that i can add them !), biting (literal), miguel licking you, no use of Y/N word count : 5,3k

note : the spider babies feel like a lil found family to me, so i had to make them goofy in this. i thought about miguel’s bites not only being poisonous, but also in another dosage a great pain killer (i have strictly no idea about how realistic all this is but here have fun reading this besties). this stands as the first part of a 3-shot that i am writing for my bday which is in 4 days hehe (crying), also i didn't proof-read this and english is not my first language :D, enjoy

chapters' list : 1 - lovebite 2 - late night training 3 - unexpected mission (nsfw) 4 - shameless (nsfw)

Although this wasn't your first mission, you couldn't help but feel like a frozen steak being thrown into a hot pan. You weren't always flung into the thick of the action, of course, but today you were, because you'd been called in as reinforcements with Pavitr.

Miguel had taken Hobie and Gwen on this mission, hoping to get Gwen more used to the terrain. You had arrived a little after her, and for the moment you had restricted access to the field. But today was clearly an exception. You and Pavitr had been called in as back-up, and you immediately took the portal to the dimension in question.

As soon as you emerged from the portal, your spider-senses alerted you to the need to throw yourselves to the ground to avoid the rush of bullets that had been fired in your direction. Exchanging surprised glances, you began to crawl to the side of the building that seemed to be opposite to where the incessant gunfire was coming from, hoping to avoid being riddled with bullets. Because although Swiss cheese was appetising, it wasn't in your plans to become one.

Pavitr tapped his watch.

"Miguel, we're here, where are-" but he had no need to ask the latter's whereabouts, since right in front of them swayed Hobie and Gwen, who seemed to be fleeing... A bride?

It was a bride armed with some sort of personally optimised cannon that was firmly strapped to her body, and if your instincts were right, it would appear that her ammunition was not as simple as that commonly sold, and you dreaded to know what would come out if she fired. She moved with a sort of jet-pack, following your friends at breakneck speed, her long white veil rippling like a trail left behind an aeroplane. Immediately, the two of you began to follow to join them.

"Hey, Hobie! Gwen! We're here!" you shouted.

Suddenly, the bride's head swivelled in your direction, her big red lips stretching into a smile as her eyes widened like two big marbles. Ouch, maybe shouting your presence in the middle of a fight wasn't the right decision.

You could already hear Miguel's voice echoing in your mind: "You should have taken advantage of the surprise and used it to your advantage instead of letting the whole town know that two Spider-Men had just joined the fight!"

But hey, what's done is done, and you'll certainly remember to be more observant on your next mission.

"Ah, Miguel's little minions have joined the party! Honey?" she shouted as you both reached Gwen and Hobie, "we've got some newcomers, I hope they're on the guest list for the ceremony. It would displease me greatly if we had to eliminate them just for that reason."

"After all, murder and marriage are the same if the two people know each other and it all ends in death," you say, your eyes falling for a moment on the absolutely enormous cannon she seems to have programmed to shoot you.

"Marriage is just another contract to life anyway," replied Hobie, to which you nodded sharply. "Anyway, with her chemtrail theory flying around behind her, I'm worried."

It seemed that the anomaly was not a single anomaly, but rather a couple of anomalies, which was probably why these two had been asked to provide support.

"Where's Miguel?" asked Pavitr, all still running.

"Oh bloke, you're not going to believe your eyes when you see him," sneered Hobie.

"What happened?" you asked.

"I took a few photos of the occasion," said Gwen, "but nothing beats seeing it for real."

A loud bang sounded, and you turned to see what had just happened. The face of the building you were standing on was melting: the bride had fired a bubble of acid that had burst against the wall and was biting all the adverts that were stuck to it.

"Destroying propaganda? Bonkers, I'm starting to reconsider this," Hobie huffed.

"Miguel's further down the avenue, on that street over there," said Gwen. "Go and see him before he comes, it's well worth a look.

When the mystery is too great, you don't dare disobey, so while they were busy evacuating more civilians to reduce the number of casualties from the mission, you set off in the direction you'd been told.

You swung out into the street, and as you rounded the corner, you couldn't help but stifle a laugh. The great Miguel O'Hara, the man at the head of the Spider Society, guardian and master of the inter-dimensional balance of events, was pasted up and looked like an Egyptian drawing in the process of running, or the typical chalk drawing you would draw on the ground at a crime scene, all covered in a gooey fluffy substance.

You swung over to him, and he noticed your arrival. You landed on the edge of the wall he was stuck on, biting your lip to stop yourself from bursting out laughing.

"If you want to say something now is the time to shut up." he said, teeth clenched.

"Gwen was right, it's definitely worth the trip. Comfortable? Need a magazine? A snack perhaps?"

"Hilarious, are you going to mess with me like this for much longer or are you planning to help me out of this situation?"

"My intentions were of a slightly more agreeable nature," you huff, walking towards him on all fours.

The substance surrounding him seemed to be a kind of solid foam that kept swelling slowly. You drew out your claws and began to cut the foam from his arm.

"Lovely couple over there, real synergy between the two of them. Shame almost half of marriages end in divorce."

"You get sentimental about enemies? Keep your sensitivity out of the fight and concentrate."

"Focus on foam? Honestly you know your Marshmallow Man costume lacks realism."

He let his neck tilt back until it touches the wall, murmured between his lips: "todos me vais a matar."

A small smile stretched across your face, the poor guy must have felt like he was babysitting, and although you were older than all the other teammates, hanging out with them brought out your absurd and more childlike side, your inner child in a way.

You managed to dislodge quite a bit of foam, but it was taking too long, it was thick and had the consistency of snow whose surface had crystallised.

"I'm pulling your leg, jefe" you say, the little use of the Spanish name making him react. What, You've got to make a profit from duolingo after all. " Okay, pull in your tummy."

"What?"

You raised your arm in the air, your claws extending a little further. Lately you'd been trying to see how far you could push the limits of your costume, and the increase in your claws was one of them. It was a bit painful, but if it meant Miguel could get out of this situation and get home safe, then you might as well take it. All you could hope for was that you wouldn't fail...

Then, with a sharp, wide stroke, you sliced through the foam. The cut was perfect, and Miguel, who was just as surprised as you were, popped out of his spot as if he'd just stepped out of a mould.

" Well," he turned to you, dusting off the few remnants of foam still clinging to his body, "observations?"

This was an exercise that Miguel inflicted on every recruit during their training or recruitment. It was simple: he selected a small anomaly to keep things simple, and asked the recruit what observations they'd make to neutralise the target. Except that, in this case, the anomaly wasn't so minor. You were racking your brains.

"I didn't see the husband, but I did see the bride. She's got a jet pack that should be neutralisable, it'll slow her down in her movements, but you'd have to aim carefully to do that. Her only power is her weapon, except that as it's attached to her it's going to be complex..."

Then you remembered her attire, and especially the long veil firmly placed on her head.

"Her wedding veil, you should be able to pull it down and hold it still."

Miguel nodded, you didn't know how to take the look he was giving you through the mask, but you hoped he was satisfied with the answer.

"The husband's pretty much the same, except-" but he didn't finish his sentence, suddenly grabbing your arm and pulling you instead into a much darker, narrower adjacent alley. He leaned against a wall, looking down at the street you had just left.

"Here's the husband," he murmured.

The suddenness of the gesture took you by surprise, of course, and you seemed unable to think straight. Not just because you were so close that your bodies were pressed together, but because all your senses, all your nerves, seemed to come together in one and the same place in your body, a place where it felt like sparks were flying: Miguel's hand was placed on your waist.

Through the thin but hard-wearing fabric of your suit, you could feel the heat from his fingers spread across your skin, sending a shiver down your spine and up to your neck and cheeks to warm them. His grip was firm on your flesh, and you tried to calm your breathing, which had been racing as fast as your heart at this closeness.

His second hand still had your arm in its embrace, and the simple thought occurred to you: what if his hand came down your arm to meet yours?

You looked up at Miguel's profile, watching the street you were on, alert. You took a deep breath as you watched him, his scent coming to you through the mask as earthy, pungent. And he turned his head towards you.

The distance separating your two faces was small, terribly small, and you wondered at that moment how the scene would have unfolded if neither of you had masks on. Would he have paid any attention to the way you were looking at him? Would those dark eyes have sparkled? Would you have been able to feel his hot breath on your face?

"Is everything all right? Your heart rate's increased."

The sentence refocused you for a moment as if you'd just plunged into icy water, your reverie no doubt perceptible through the suit. You lowered your eyes, glancing at the placement of his two hands on you, blinking rapidly as you tried to pull yourself together. Quick, an excuse, anything.

"The others," you breathed, using the card of concern for teammates, "I wonder how they're holding up."

"Uh huh..." he murmured, the answer only half satisfying him, his gaze piercing yours through his mask as you felt his hand tighten on your waist, another shiver running through your body. You didn't really understand why he'd maintained this seemingly intimate embrace, but to be honest, you weren't against the idea of this position for a few more moments.

It felt good to be like that, to share someone else's closeness.

He was so big, he seemed to engulf you with his size and thickness, looming over you, and so much strength and threat in one body aroused as much interest in you as it did fear.

Pull yourself together, for God's sake, what's Miguel, your boss? He's got better things to do than that, than get close to you, than get intimate with you...

He seemed to be inspecting you strangely, and the intensity of this gesture made you look down even more, the ground suddenly seeming very interesting to look at. But if he had anything to say on the subject, it could obviously wait until the mission was over.

"The way's clear, let's go," he says, finally letting go of his hold on you, "before these idiots do any more damage than they already have."

And with a thump, he pulled a web and propelled himself into the air. A gasp escaped your lips, the sudden sensation of not being touched leaving you feeling grey. You took a deep breath, trying to refocus your thoughts on the mission and not on the irreplaceable sensation that Miguel's hands had left on your body.

You dashed off in your turn, following him to join the others.

Not far away you could hear Hobie shouting: "They're pissing on us without even making us think it's raining!" Hobie, charming as always.

Needless to say, it was a fairground. Miguel threw a web in the bride's face and found the other three on a roof. Furious, he pointed his finger towards the corner of a building that was on fire, from the bottom of which civilians kept coming out, coughing, some even injured.

"Who did this?" he asked, his throat rumbling in frustration.

"You did," Hobie answered point-blank.

"Bravo," he growled sarcastically, "it's good to admit your mistakes."

"It's paradoxical communication," he informed you, avoiding a projectile that you couldn't identify, no doubt another munition of dubious composition from the bride's weapon, who seemed to be hurtling towards you with intensity.

" I Leave it to you for two minutes and you destroy everything," Miguel murmured as he began to run towards the enemy.

" Submerged by their numbers of two we couldn't do anything," pleaded Pavitr.

"Gobsmacked, maybe she's rebelling against a terribly phallocratic world," Hobie says as he dodges a huge snowball as big as himself launched from the cannon.

"Darling? Maybe it's time for dessert, what do you think?"

Shit, here comes the husband too. He was equipped with a jet-pack just like the groom, but his weapon was much less sophisticated than his wife's, a simple submachine gun, which didn't make it harmless, quite the contrary.

"Great idea! It's time for the icing on the cake," and with these words she seemed to throw portions of sweet and colourful cream towards your group.

"Come on, dance! Dance!" ordered the husband.

"No! I don't wanna dance, I'm from the town in footloose," you blurted out, trying to pull a simple web towards the cannon of the bride's gun.

You didn't succeed, but threw a second one anyway, taking the risk of standing still for a few moments to improve your aim. The web shot out and hit the barrel of the weapon. Yes! but the celebrations were short-lived, as a rush of bullets came crashing towards you, and even in your haste to escape, you were hit in the thigh.

A strangled little grunt vibrated against your teeth and lips, you didn't know exactly what it had struck in your leg, but the pain was sudden and stinging. Still, you followed the others a little, with difficulty. Every simple movement was a painful tug.

The group eventually stopped in an empty courtyard, to deliberate, talk strategy and how to organise themselves. The landing on the ground was a little abrupt, and you staggered back to your feet towards the group.

"Hey, you all right?" Hobie asked you.

"Never been better," you said, giving a thumbs up, your nose wrinkling at the next step.

"Are you sure you're okay? You're walking like a Disney witch," said Patvir, raising an eyebrow.

"Bollocks, your thigh!" pointed Hobie as he came towards you.

You looked down, the bullet had of course pierced the fabric of your suit, stretching the elastic material over your bloody thigh from the hole the bullet had punched in your thigh.

"Calm down," Gwen said in the distance, chatting to Miguel, "let me take care of this, Miguel."

"Like you've taken care of everything else so far, Gwen?" he said, his hands resting on his hips.

"Miguel?" called Pavitr.

"What do you want?" he asked as he turned his head suddenly towards where you guys were.

"Can't you answer 'yes' like everyone else?" gasped Pavitr.

But Miguel was already coming towards you, he must have seen the impact in your thigh.

"Nice icing on the cake, eh?" you said, laughing slightly at the situation. After all, ridicule poisons fear.

But the shots were already ringing out and they were coming towards you.

" Okay," breathed Miguel, "Hobie, Pavitr, Gwen, try to immobilise them. The husband is easy to neutralise, just hit his jet-pack and take away his weapon. For the bride, try to take her towards the river, if you make her fall into the water she will start to sink with all her layers of clothes and the weight of her dress. Pull her by her veil if you have to, but go ahead. The first one to do even a little unintentional damage again will end up with his back broken like a glow stick, got it?"

"I don't take orders," Hobie refused.

"Hobie, you take care of the bridegroom with Gwen," Miguel continued as if he wasn't listening to him any more, moving closer to you. He tossed him his multidimensional cell device, as if he was worth reaching for.

"Why does he only come and ask me things once a day, as if I were a vitamin?" Hobie huffs before launching himself into the air.

"Oh, you know, that's what we love about him, his boundless empathy," remarked Gwen before shooting a web and leaving in her turn.

"Why do I always get the less interesting ones," said Pavitr before leaving as well.

Miguel turned to you, taking off his mask. His brown hair was dishevelled and he didn't even put his hand through it before ordering:

"Sit.

You'd have liked to contradict him, to say that you could definitely wait until you got back to HQ and received treatment there rather than slowing down the mission when you'd literally been called in as backup. And here you were, the backup turned liability in the situation, so contradicting him wasn't really in your plans.

You backed away, leaning against the wall and letting yourself slide with difficulty against the bricks as you tried to put as little weight as possible on your damaged leg. With a muffled whimper, you reached the ground, stretching your bad leg further as you bent the other. You took off your mask in turn, no longer able to hide your expressions of pain. The sensation you'd had at first had been sharp, but now it felt like your thigh was on fire and the wound was licking at your skin like flames.

Miguel came forward and knelt beside you. His gaze was riveted on your thigh, and when his gloved hand came to rest beside the wound, you stiffened your back and couldn't help breathing in through clenched teeth. His brown eyes looked up into yours, watching your expressions through the wild strands of his hair. But it was also simply a look for permission to continue his gestures.

"If it hurts too much, use your mask," he said, his eyes returning to the wound.

The mask? In what way would the mask be- ah, so... You watched your mask, hesitating for a moment. What Miguel meant by that suggestion was biting your mask. Since you were probably going to grit your teeth, you might as well not hurt yourself too much and tear them up by biting into something. You wavered at the thought, preferring not to damage any more of your costume. You'd already dented it with your punctured thigh, but ripping your mask on top of that? No, preferably not.

His thumb felt your skin, and he pressed down on a spot that threw you so hard that your hand immediately grabbed his wrist. You were breathless, almost nauseous from the pain, and you opened your frowning eyes again to meet Miguel's gaze, which had stopped all movement of his hand.

You looked up at him, your eyes and nose stinging with the tears that threatened to spill from the pain. He breathed, his eyes falling on your hand, then straightened towards yours:

"If you don't let me touch it, I'll pin your hands down with my webs, is that clear?"

Biting the inside of your cheek, you let out a shaky breath and removed your hand, which seemed ridiculously small compared to his.

"Well, the bullet's really not deep, so it should be fine."

Honestly, you didn't know whether it was better for you to know what was going to happen, and you were somehow grateful that he wasn't detailing his operation to you, even though he was doing it mainly out of lack of time.

His two hands came to grip your thigh to hold it steady, he gave you one last look, then lowered his head close to your thigh, and you saw a flash of white gleam from his long, sharp fangs before they sank into your skin. A strangled cry drowned in your throat as you felt them ooze something wet, liquid seeping into your skin and blood.

Miguel's bites weren't just poisonous, they could also be incredibly helpful in situations like these, where they acted as both a mild painkiller and a kind of antidote that accelerated the healing process. And although the painkiller aspect wasn't performing well enough for your liking, you were still quite happy not to feel like you were in complete agony.

The sensation of his lips on your flesh, however, previously drowned out by the sensations of all your aching nerves, became much clearer. Their softness grazing your skin with more intimacy than he was aware of.

He hadn't bitten down on the wound, to prevent the bullet from moving any further, and you took a deep breath when he moved away, pulling his fangs out of your skin. His tongue cleaned them, and he glanced at you as he did so, just to make sure you were all right.

Please tell me I haven't become a big walking tomato, you thought. Now apparently the most important phase would begin: extracting the bullet. You bit down hard on your bottom lip, still feeling pain, then nodded to allow him to continue.

He bent down again, coming dangerously close to the wound, to your raw flesh where warm blood was dripping. The bullet wasn't far from the surface, luckily the suit had played a large part in cushioning it.

He breathed in lightly, then put his lips to the wound. A current of electricity ran through your body as all sorts of sensations mixed together in one place. The burn on your thigh had just met the slightly sticky wetness of Miguel's saliva and the warmth of his mouth and lips as he began to draw.

You realised what Miguel was doing, he was sucking the bullet out of your flesh. His tongue flicked lightly around the impact, and his fangs, still a little elongated, lightly traced your skin.

Your breath was erratic, and you tried to stabilise it, but the sensations seemed so extreme that the task was complicated. The thing about spider-senses is that your senses are heightened, so the slightest movement of Miguel's lips, tongue or fangs sent shivers through your body. He drew back to spit out the excess saliva and blood that had mingled before coming back and sucking harder. You could feel the bullet coming out little by little, still biting your lip fiercely until you felt a metallic taste, and were insistently reconsidering the choice of biting into your mask. So you switched to the side of your index finger, biting it as your frown of pain intensified.

Then Miguel pressed his lips a little harder, and your body had to grab hold of something. Then, inadvertently and with many mental 'oh no's attacking your being as soon as the gesture was made, you grabbed Miguel's hair.

His eyes immediately looked up at yours, wide, questioning the gesture, and the sight made you feel as if your heart had fallen into the warmth of your stomach. His brown eyes had a flash of red and peered through his long lashes, their colour blending perfectly with his blood-smeared cheeks.

You were so desperate for a foothold that your body hadn't given a second thought to what it should be gripping. He just froze, for a few seconds that seemed as long as minutes. You calmed your breathing, taking advantage of the respite from his movements to relax a little. Worried, you looked up at him again, dreading his reaction.

But nothing, no 'what the hell are you doing', no 'stop that immediately', no 'that's inappropriate', no reprimand, nothing. Your fingers in his hair relaxed, they were much softer than you'd imagined, but your hand didn't leave its place. You felt both his hands tighten around your thigh, making you swallow hard. He just gave you one last look before flicking his tongue around the wound and continuing his suction.

Your fingers reflexively gripped his hair again and Miguel let out a low rumble from his throat that vibrated up your thigh and into the bullet. The sensation was such that you suddenly turned your head to the side, closing your eyes tightly until you saw stars. The tears that had welled up started falling, determined.

Miguel's hot breath washed over your bare, rosy skin, turning visibly purple with the repeated suctions Miguel left in his path. His normal teeth were biting into your skin around the bullet to create the pressure that would eject it.

You locked your fingers in his hair again, and felt his hands tighten their grip on your thigh as a low hmpf vibrated against your skin again. Then he drew in harder, and pressed his teeth in deeper, and you felt your finger beading with blood as your teeth pierced your skin.

And then, at last, you felt the bullet come out. A deep sigh poured from your lungs as you eased your hand from his hair to wipe away the tears that had rolled down your cheeks. He stepped back, his eyes looking into yours, his cheeks and nose all covered in blood, and between his reddened teeth was the crushed bullet.

You looked at him like this, your cheeks heating up violently. He spat the bullet out to the side, then looked back at your thigh. He breathed heavily, clenching his jaw as he let go of your thigh, bringing one of his hands up to wipe his cheek with the back of it.

"Put some webs on it, that should be enough to last us until we get to HQ."

His eyes scanned yours, tired, reddened, a tear still running down them. He wiped it away with the back of his index finger, letting it fall onto the fabric of his suit. The gesture was gentle, almost like a caress as his finger gently traced your cheek.

"You did great, muñeca", he said, his voice soft, softer than you'd ever heard it.

The nickname gave you a warm, soft feeling in your lower stomach. He straightened up, his mask in hand, the other stretched out towards you, ready to be seized.

No comment on the pulled hair? You were afraid he'd mention it, or were you afraid he wouldn't mention it at all.

"Can you stand up?" he asked.

You looked at your thigh for a moment, then did as he instructed and pulled a few webs over the still open wound. Then, looking up, you grabbed Miguel's hand to help you up. You breathed through your teeth, the pain was still there, but now that the bullet had been dislodged and Miguel's pain-killing venom was coursing through your veins, the ache was lessened.

You were swaying slightly and Miguel's reflex was to place his hand on your waist to steady you. He gave a retentive tt-tt.

"Try to stick to the webs, do as little walking or running as possible," he said before putting his mask back on, which you in turn did. "Ready?"

You bobbed your head, putting your weight on your good leg, "ready.

With a nod, you both took off.

Soon you found Pavitr who had managed to catch the husband who, on closer inspection, had one of his eyes as white as a half-cooked egg. Perhaps this explained his random aiming. In any case, he was huffing and puffing like a rhinoceros.

"It's about time," Pavitr yawned, "your leg?"

You gave him a thumbs up.

" Where are Gwen and Hobie? " Miguel asked.

"Further down the river like you said."

"Well, you can go back to HQ, we'll take care of the rest- can you go on?" he said, turning to you.

"Yep, the only thing that could stop me would be myself."

"Was that the philosophical moment?" asked Pavitr. "That deserves a few lyrical songs, doesn't it?"

"It's pathetic," admitted Miguel as he left.

You followed him, Pavitr entering a portal to return to 928.

"Are you trying to destroy our pseudo-friendship?

"Pseudo-friendship?" he chuckles, "you mean how I removed that bullet with my teeth, and you-"

"Ah, the amnesia's getting to me!" you cut in, continuing along the road faster than him until you reach the river where, hanging from a lamppost on the quayside, the bride was dripping wet and stripped of her weapon. She seemed simply stunned, and Gwen and Hobie were standing in front of her, still tense from their fight.

You approached the two lads, smiling at Gwen who had finally succeeded in her training.

"Good job!" you said, raising your fist to her height, which she banged in a friendly manner, doing the same for Hobie.

"Hobie?" called Miguel in the distance.

"Don't move," said the latter, "it's like with bears, if you don't do anything they'll leave."

"This is the right way," affirmed Gwen.

"Where's the weapon?" asked Miguel, who had finally reached your level.

"It fell into the water," he replied simply.

"What?" asked Miguel.

"Relax, I'm just messing with you. It's behind you," he said, pointing with his chin at the wet weapon on the ground.

"So, how did it go?"

"I wouldn't go into details," Hobie sighed.

"What are you trying to accomplish here?" Asked Miguel.

"I don't want to listen to you; malicious criticism hurts my self-esteem and praise leaves me sceptical."

Miguel sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, murmuring "Voy a matarlos."

"I hope one day you'll understand what I've just said," he whispered, climbing up the lamppost to unhook the bride and place her in another multi-dimensional cell.

"Did you hear anything?" you asked ironically.

"Oh no, I didn't hear anything, did you?" questioned Gwen to Hobie.

"I've got an ear infection."

You smiled at this conversation, watching Miguel fiddle with his watch.

"How's your leg, by the way?" asked Hobie.

"I've still got the bullet, I'm going to be ringing airport buzzers for the rest of my life."

"Huh?" exclaimed Gwen.

"Just kidding, everything's fine."

"Why do you have to be like that? In situations like this, 'I'm fine' is the standard response," she huffed.

"I'm on a strict diet of misplaced enthusiasm and gut-wrenching regret." You affirmed.

"Huh huh, diets are bad," Hobie remarked. "It's just another way for capitalism to prove that their system is superior to you."

"Well, come on, let's go home," Miguel called.

His eyes fell on you for a moment, and in the space of that glance the vision of his crimson eyes, his fangs glistening with your blood smeared across his cheeks came back to your mind. You entered the portal, and soon enough, as you got into the lift, the horizon formed as far as the eye could see, with towers sunk like daggers into the belly of the sky, and so high that, from sleep, you could plunge into the clouds.

And now you couldn't think of anything else but Miguel.

part two >> late night training

#madschiavelique ⟢ ݁ ˖‧˚₊ ☁︎#miguel o'hara #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel ohara #miguel x reader #spiderman 2099 spiderverse #astv miguel #miguel astv #astv #astv x reader #spiderman atsv #miguel x you #miguel x y/n #miguel spiderman

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kitchenisking · 6 months

Text

Sterek Fic Rec

Second night of chunnuka!

As it Should Be by KuroKitty (HaleYes) - (Rating: Explicit, Words: 7,240, sterek)

Stiles comes home from his 18th birthday party at the bowling alley to find a surprise waiting for him in his room.

Or, the one where Derek has no chill.

Daddy. by Krose_16 - (Rating: Explicit, Words: 1,430, sterek)

Stiles smells like someone else. A certain alpha doesn't like it.

Daddy's Boy by Snare - (Rating: Explicit, Words: 2,822, sterek)

Stiles has been blushing around him all week, sputtering and cheeks going red. It’s only after a pack meeting when Derek finally sees the soft pink lace peaking out from under his waistband.

you're still you by EvanesDust - (Rating: T, Words: 7,292, sterek)

[excerpt] Stiles takes a deep breath and follows the pull of their bond to the kitchen. He stops short when he sees Derek sitting at the table. His brows are furrowed with worry and his eyes are closed. But that’s not what makes Stiles’s heart skips a beat.

No, it’s the fact that Derek, his thirty-two-year-old husband, looks half his age now. As in literally half his age. There’s no way that the man sitting in front of him is older than sixteen.

“What the fuck?” Stiles blurts out, and Derek’s eyes shoot open, the chair clattering back as he stands as if Stiles surprised him. And that just goes to show that something is seriously wrong because Stiles has only ever been able to do that when Derek’s stressed and lost in thought. “What the hell happened?”

…or the murder husbands fic that’s mostly sweet while bby Derek takes care of his pregnant mate.

Neither Here Nor There by FelOllie - (Rating: Explicit, Words: 7,083, sterek)

"Yeah." Stiles ran a hand through hair he hadn't washed in days, not since he'd come home from his dad's to find the loft littered with shotgun shells, black blood staining the floor and the heavy scent of wolfsbane cloyingly thick in the air, with Derek nowhere to be found. "We'll get him back. But..."

"What?" Scott asked, crossing the floor to stand before Stiles, lifting a comforting hand to his best friend's shoulder.

Stiles met Scott's eyes, his own orbs glittering with terrified tears. "What if he's just ash by then?"

Bright by thedevilyousay - (Rating: Not Rated, Words: 4,102, sterek)

"The strongest warlock in all the land uses his power to constantly kidnap the princess. Most people believe it’s because he’s in love with her, but they have it all wrong. He’s in love with the knight who always comes to save her."

Allison finally lets out all the air that’s been trapped in her lungs to giggle, a noise she quickly tries to cover with her hand. This is all too much though, honestly. Stiles isn’t even dressed, Derek has no idea that the mage only does this to see him, and she suddenly can’t remember if she took the kettle off the fire in Stiles kitchen before walking out here to greet her Knight. She tries to gather herself before she speaks.

Nothing Gory Means No Glory (but baby please don't bore me) by DefNotForWork - (Rating: Explicit, Words: 13,537, sterek)

“I don’t like them touching you,” he rumbled. “I don’t want anyone else touching you.” He leaned forward, and Stiles’ eyes went wide, thinking for one crazy second that the wolf might be leaning in for a kiss. He stood, frozen in place as Derek pressed in close, chest to chest, dragging his nose and then his stubbly cheek against the corner of Stiles’ slack, shocked mouth, down over his jaw and then to his neck. Stiles recognized it as scenting, but damn did it feel like so much more.

Stiles puts himself in the way of a succubus, gets munched on, Derek talks about his feelings, and then they find true love. Not strictly in that order.

At Peace by RisingQueen2 (FallenQueen2) - (Rating: Explicit, Words: 1,801, sterek)

Stiles spies Derek looking adorably soft and can’t help but go to him.

The End is the Beginning by AClosedFicIsNeverRead - (Rating: Mature, Words: 6,496, sterek)

When Chris returned to the living room, rifle in hand, Stiles – God help him – looked so relieved.

“Thank you,” Stiles sighed. He sat up and closed his eyes, trying to hold himself somewhat still as he waited to die.

Chris clenched his jaw. Raised his rifle. Aimed with tearful eyes. And pulled the trigger.

- OR -

The one where Stiles is bitten and left for dead by a rogue Alpha without anyone knowing, becomes increasingly unstable, and asks Chris Argent to put him down. It doesn't go the way he expected it would...

let the tension seep from your bones by To_fill_the_sea - (Rating: Mature, Words: 3,510, sterek)

Derek comes home from tracking a rogue alpha that was encroaching on his territory and threatening his town. When he finally fixes the problem and comes back home he finds Stiles crying in the shower. He then does what he can to soothe and help him.

#sterek #derek hale #stiles stilinski #fanfiction #stiles x derek #kitcheniskingficrecs #ficrec #fanfic

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lovelettersforthedamned · 7 months

Note

Idkidk mean or depressed peter trying to push you away bc he’s afraid of falling for reader (he already is) but one night reader catches him after a nasty fight and cleans him up and sexy times happens but he’s finally opening up to her?

It’s Not Your Fault, It’s Mine!

--genre + trope: hurt/comfort, college!au, angst, flufffff.

--pairing: college!tasm!peter parker x college!gn!reader

--word count: 1.5k

--summary: something has been off about your friend, peter. he's been giving you the cold shoulder, and one bad night leads to the reason why he's been so distant.

--warnings: mentions of blood (bleeding nose), peter gets kinda mean, mention of alcohol, bruises, hurt/comfort, FLUFF.

There’s been a weird tension between you and Peter lately. Although you two are strictly friends, Peter has always been quite touchy. Both of your friends have seen you snuggled up next to him at parties, and holding hands while walking through campus. It was never weird for you and you never noticed how comfortable you were doing it until Peter stopped initiating it entirely.

The beginning of the week seemed fine, October brings midterms, which means more work, for the both of you. It began to get harder to find time to see Peter, either you were in class, or he was busy.

That’s how it was the entire week, until Thursday. You finally scheduled a time to hang out at his apartment to watch a movie and get takeout. As you head up the flights of stairs to Peter’s place, a weird pit in your stomach continues to drop, making you anxious. After finally reaching his apartment and knocking, he opens the door. You could’ve blinked and missed it, but right under his jaw was a sickening black and blue bruise, along with some dried blood right under his nose. His hood from his jacket is up, who knows what else he could be hiding underneath it.

Once he opens the door, he immediately turns away, trying hard not to let you look at his face further. Walking in quickly, you shut the door behind you, “What the fuck happened?”

Still facing away from you, he walks towards the fridge, opens it, and takes a long look inside. “Nothing happened,” a monotone voice meets your ears.

He reaches deep into the fridge and pulls out a beer, opening it and taking a swig as he leans against the kitchen counter. You take a few steps toward him until you’re in his direct line of sight. Reaching up to inspect his face more, his hand comes up to swat you away.

You open your mouth to speak, but you are quickly interrupted by the boy in front of you, “(Y/N), can we talk?”

This catches your attention fully, crossing your arms as you peer up at him, frustration lighting your body on fire, “Sure.”

“Whatever we are, or whatever this is,” his eyes are avoiding contact with yours at all costs, he’s nervous, “I don’t want to be involved with you anymore, and I don’t want to see you around anymore.”

Your once worried demeanor turns into one of shock. You suddenly feel like a deer in headlights, the warm air of Peter’s apartment now becoming too hot. Taking a step back, you speak before your mind can think of a real sentence, “What?”

“I’m telling you to leave, (Y/N),” his tone coming out harsher. His gaze finally meets yours, and he regrets he ever dared to look. Your lower lash line is filled with tears that are threatening to spill at any second. In reality, Peter would never in a million years tell you this, but fuck, does the thought of you scare him terribly.

He was comfortable in this safe middle ground of romance with you, there were no titles, strings, or commitments. It was nice having you, you brought a familiar sense of safety wherever you went. Maybe that’s why Peter gravitated towards you.

He thought he was going crazy one night, his mind had seemed to collapse at the mere thought of you. There was no escaping the thought of your smile, the warmth you brought to him, and the way your touch lit up his skin. All he could think of was you, and it was killing him. He wanted whatever you had to stay where it was, but it seemed impossible the more he thought of you. In all honesty, he’s afraid to love you.

Stepping back from him, your voice starts to shake, “You don’t mean that.”

“Please…please, just leave (Y/N),” his head dips, a tear falling from his eye, “just go.”

Looking at his slouched form, you bite your lip to prevent it from wobbling anymore. You remain there for a second, hoping that this is some sick dream, you’re waiting to wake up from it at any second.

Peter still sees your feet planted in front of him, he finally looks back up at you, but now his nose is bleeding again. Wiping the sleeve of his jacket against his nose, the fabric is now stained with the deep liquid. “Fuck,” he mutters to himself before he turns around to face the sink, turning on the water and running his sleeve under it.

You walk silently behind him, reaching your hand up to rest on his back and leaning into his arm. This time, he doesn’t push you away. You stay there for a few minutes before he turns to face you completely, “I’m sorry.” That’s all he says before he falls into your frame, wrapping you in a hug so tight that you almost can’t breathe. Pushing your second wave of shock and confusion aside, you hug him back. You’re not sure what was going on, but what you did know was that he needs you right now. And although the words he spewed at you were harsh, you pushed them aside, because Peter is hurting.

That was another reason why Peter loved you, you care for people selflessly, even after being hurt by those same people. “Let’s go sit on the couch,” you suggest, grabbing a few tissues before following Peter. Sitting down, you’re able to look at his face closely, noticing his nose first, you grab a tissue to clean him up. There was a gentleness to your touch, he wouldn’t blame you for hurting him more, especially after what he said to you. But no, your touch is feather-like.

Throwing the dirty tissues on the coffee table, you ask, “Can I take off your hood?” A nod is seen in response. Lifting both hands to pull down his hood, you see another bruise forming on his temple. Your fingers dance over it, scrutinizing it. Even though you barely touched his face, he craves your touch more. Quickly standing up, you make your way back to the fridge and grab a pack of frozen peas from the freezer, along with a kitchen towel to wrap around it.

As he watches you walk back, all he can think about is how he hurt you. He hurt you and you're helping him. Placing the cold bag on his face, you grab his hand to hold it there. Right as you start to pull away, he traps your hand inside of his, grasping your attention, “I’m sorry for what I said earlier.”

You sigh as you realize what’s about to come up, pulling your hand away from him and putting both your hands in your lap. “Why did you say that? There has to be a reason, right? What did I do?”

His heart cracks at your last question, his outburst caused you to think that you did something wrong. He swallows before responding, “You didn’t do anything wrong. I have no excuse for what I did, and I’m sorry. I just–the thought of us scares me.”

“That’s why we said we would keep this platonic,” you say, “we’re just friends.” That’s what you told everyone, that’s what you told yourself, but you couldn’t keep ignoring that inkling feeling whenever you were with him. There was always a pull towards the feeling of being something more, but the second it popped into your mind, you shut it down immediately. You couldn’t lose Peter.

He was panicking at your response, was he making a fool out of himself for making this such a big deal? “I know we are,” he starts, dropping the cold bag of peas to the side, “and that’s great, don’t get me wrong, but god (Y/N) you make it so hard to be just that. And it’s so annoying because it’s not your fault! It’s mine! I’m in love with you, and it’s driving me crazy because the thought of you not existing in my life hurts me. There’s not a moment in the day when I am not grateful for you. You have changed my life and you don’t even realize it! Fuck! I am in love with you.”

You look at him with wide eyes, you weren’t sure what you were expecting, but it was not that. He’s breathless, panting at his hurried confession. On the inside, he was freaking out, you weren't responding.

“Can you please say something–”

Your response contains no words, your kiss says enough.

You softly cradle his head, keeping his bruises in mind. The kiss was soft, a pour of emotions flowing through your lips. Pulling away, you finally give him a verbal response, “I love you too, does that answer it?”

“I don’t know,” he teases, “I think you need to kiss me more to fully confirm your answer.”

“You’re such an idiot, Parker,” you laugh, leaning in to kiss him again.

--author's note: HELLO!!! thank you so much for the request anon! im sorry, there's not a lot of spiciness in this one:(( my allergies are literally killing me right now, so apologies for posting so late and the lack of posts recently! BUTTTTT, be aware of a fic tomorrow featuring someone else on my masterlist...don't forget to support your writers by liking, commenting, and reblogging! my asks/inbox is open, so send me anything!! ok, bye ily<3

#andrew garfield peter parker #peter parker #peter parker x reader #marvel #spiderman #fluff #tasm!peter x reader #tasm!peter parker #college au #peter parker oneshot #tasm!peter parker oneshot

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bobfloydsbabe · 6 months

Text

burning flames | eccentric professor!bob floyd x oc

a gold rush fic

SUMMARY: A heated argument reaches a fever pitch for Bob and his TA.

WARNINGS: academia au, enemies to lovers (if you squint), age gap (mid-to-late 20s/late 30s), power imbalance, mutual jealousy, SMUT (fingering), bob being grumpy and rude. strictly 18+/minors dni.

WORD COUNT: 2.3k

GOLD RUSH MASTERLIST

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SPECIAL THANKS to @cherrycola27 for letting me rant about professor bob and for sending thots when i ask for them. you're a real one.

A/N: very loosely inspired by the song style by taylor swift for the wonderful @laracrofted's 1989TGM writing celebration. this was supposed to be a mob boss bob fic, but that made me cry, so i switched gears and now here we are. i'm sorry this is so late, ames. enjoy!

“That’s all we have time for today. You’re dismissed.” He closes his book and listens to the sound of laptop lids being shut, chairs scraping against the old wooden floor, and chatter amongst his students. It’s a sound he’ll never tire of, no matter how long he teaches.

One sound is distinctly different, though. The sound of her voice. Sweet and soft. Lifting his eyes, he sees her talking to one of his students. Mike something. He can’t quite remember, but she laughs and puts her hand on his arm, making Bob clench his jaw.

Another student, Alicia, comes to his desk to talk about the upcoming assignment and what she can do to improve her grade. Normally, he would tell her to make an appointment at his office, but then Imogen laughs again, making heady eyes at that Mike guy, and he decides he has all the time in the world to talk to Alicia.

He tries to pay attention to his student, to answer her questions, and even tries to smile, but he can feel Imogen looking at him out of the corner of her eye. Her dark gaze is intense and sets his skin on fire in a way he’s been trying to ignore for weeks.

“So,” he hears Mike say. “What are your plans this weekend?”

Bob freezes. He lets his eyes wander over to Imogen, who’s still smiling. Next to him, Alicia is still talking, but her voice is far away and barely audible as he focuses on his assistant.

“I’m revising my dissertation proposal,” she tells him. “They rejected the last one for being too broad, so I have to narrow it down.”

Bob’s on that committee and strongly disagreed, but other members outnumbered him and he was forced to dissent. Dr. Kazansky had given her the news, and Bob remembers the heartbroken look in her eyes when she came to his office afterward. He’d wanted to comfort her then.

“Too busy to have dinner with me?”

Bob straightens his back, eyes still trained on Imogen as he dismisses Alicia, telling her to make an appointment if she wishes to discuss things further.

She mutters a thank you and scurries away. Imogen opens her mouth to answer, but Bob interrupts, certain he doesn’t want to hear the answer she’ll likely provide to this Mike character.

“Miss Van Doren,” he says, barely recognizing the hardness in his own voice. “My office. Now.”

He doesn’t wait for her to respond, but gathers his books and leaves the lecture hall without a glance back to see if she’s following. It doesn’t take long for him to hear her marching footsteps behind him, so he leaves the door open for her.

She slams it shut, so it rattles on the hinges.

“What is your problem?”

She’s furious. Nostrils flared, heavy breathing, and a delicious flush paints her cheeks pink.

“My problem?” he asks, placing the books on his desk. “What’s your problem?”

She drops her bag to the floor and crosses her arms in front of her chest. The gold necklace with her initial catches in the light, drawing his eyes down.

“I don’t have a problem,” she insists, taking a step toward him. “But you constantly berating me is getting old.”

He says nothing. He can’t. Not when she’s looking at him like she wants to wring his neck. Not when all the blood in his body is racing south, and he’s trying not to look at her legs, but they are on full display in that tight little skirt she’s wearing. Again.

He swears she’s doing it on purpose to rile him up.

He hates that it’s working.

She takes a deep breath, pushing her shoulders back, and looks up into his eyes. He’s always found hers unsettling, like she sees the parts of him he’s been hiding for decades.

“I know you don’t want me here, Dr. Floyd,” she says, gesturing around his office, making her short skirt even shorter, revealing more of her supple thighs. “You’ve made that abundantly clear, but you could at least show me the courtesy of not undermining me every time I talk to students.”

He frowns. “I don’t undermine you.”

She scoffs, gaze leaving him as her frustration fills the room. “You interrupted my conversation with Michael not five minutes ago,” she argues as her eyes find his again. Dark brown meeting ocean blue.

He steps forward, eyes wandering over every inch of her exposed skin, making his head spin with barely contained desire. “It was an inappropriate conversation.”

“He asked about my dissertation.”

Bob shakes his head. “No, he asked you out.”

“So what?” she throws her hands out to the side, exasperation turning into full-blown anger now. “He’s been trying to ask me out for weeks, but you always manage to interrupt. If I didn’t know better, I’d think you do it on purpose.”

He freezes. His heart’s beating painfully in his chest and his face feels like it’s on fire. There may even be steam coming out of his ears.

He watches Imogen run her hands through her hair, pulling at the roots, and he truly wishes she wouldn’t. It’s conjuring up very vivid images in his head that he shouldn’t have of his teaching assistant.

She looks at him expectantly, thinking an answer is going to come, but it doesn’t. He doesn’t know how to respond to that in a way that’ll make sense to her. It barely even makes sense to himself.

“He doesn’t deserve you,” Bob says finally.

She scoffs. “Yeah, well, he treats me better than you do, and I know that’s a really low bar, but it’s better than—”

Bob crashes his lips against hers, swallowing the gasp she emits. For a moment nothing happens, and for a second he thinks he’s made a grave mistake, but then Imogen’s arms circle around his waist and she sighs against his mouth.

He walks her backward until her back hits the wall behind his desk, and he presses her against it, trying to get closer.

He pulls away a few inches to look at her. Cheeks flushed, hair a little out of place, and pupils dilated. She’s never looked more delectable, and he knows she can feel his hard cock against her hip. He doesn’t care.

Taking a deep breath, her eyes search his face for something, but it’s unclear whether she finds it. “Why did you do that?”

Her voice is barely above a whisper. There’s no hint of regret, but the rational part of him knows this is a bad idea. He’s her superior, after all.

“You wouldn’t shut up.”

“So you kissed me?” she asks with an adorable wrinkle between her brows.

He frowns. Now sure he’s misjudged the situation, Bob leans back and squares his shoulders, letting his hands fall away from her neck.

“Oh no,” she tuts and grabs a handful of his sweater, pulling him back in. “Get back here.” She stands on her tiptoes and captures his mouth with her own, tongue dancing at the seam of his lips for entry.

He doesn’t have to be told twice. He leans his weight against her, pushing her against the wall, and groans into her mouth when she tugs on his hair.

His hands travel down her body. Grazing across the swell of her breasts, into the dip of her waist, the hips that have occupied his thoughts for weeks, and finally, her thighs. His lips never leave hers, and his tongue explores her mouth and the taste of mint that lingers from her toothpaste.

Imogen shudders as his fingertips tickle the back of her knees, whimpering at the touch.

His hands slide up the back of her bare thighs, feeling her soft skin under his palms. She moans into his mouth and it’s the most arousing sound he’s ever heard. He can’t help the roll of his hips, desperate for friction, for relief, for something warmer than his own hand.

His hands travel up under her skirt, feeling the plumpness of her ass in his hands make him push against her again and she’s meeting him with her own movement.

“Professor,” she moans, as he trails wet kisses along her throat, running his tongue over the skin afterward.

He hums, kneading her ass-cheeks, growing harder as he rocks against her. Even separated by layers of fabric, the friction is enough to drive him mad.

“Dr. Floyd,” she says, pulling his hair hard enough that his lips detach from her throat. Her pupils are wide and hungry, mirroring his own, and their heavy breaths mix in arousing unison. “I’m still mad at you.”

A smug smirk spreads across his face. “I know,” he says and removes one hand from her ass. He uses it to brush a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “Don’t go out with him.”

“Why not?”

“Because I can’t stop thinking about you.”

The words hang in the air. Bob keeps one hand on the side of her neck while the other remains under her skirt, playing with the edge of her panties. He holds her gaze, waiting for her to make the next move. To tell him where she stands, what she wants.

He sees the moment she decides, the corner of her mouth turning upward just enough to be a smile.

“Show me.”

Yanking her panties to the side, his fingertips glide along her folds, feeling her already soaking for him. Her mouth forms a perfect o as she gasps, and he wonders what else that pretty and vicious mouth can do.

Her fingers curl into the hair at his nape, gasping when he finds her clit. “So pretty like this,” he whispers, kissing the underside of her jaw.

“Professor,” she whimpers. “Please.”

“Come on,” he says, leaning back to watch her. Her brown doe eyes have gone dark with hunger and desire, arousal clear from the bead of sweat on her temple, and his cock is so hard he’s about to go insane. Yet, he still leans in close, his lips featherlight against her ear and whispers “moan for me.”

He leans back just in time to catch the look in her eyes when he presses his thumb against her clit and she lets herself moan. Louder than he expected, so his hand flies over her mouth, keeping her quiet, but feeling her smile beneath his palm.

His thumb massages her clit while his index finger finds her entrance, warmth begging him to enter. Bob meets Imogen’s eyes, asking without saying the words because he doesn’t trust either of them to keep their voices down.

Her nod sends him to heaven.

She moans into his hand as his finger slides inside her. He’s hot all over, groaning into her neck at the sensation of her. “So fucking tight,” he mumbles against her skin, making her clench around him.

Tightening her arms around his shoulders, she whimpers against his palm, and her hips meet his motions as he pumps his finger inside her. Her juices spread across his hand, and before long, he adds a second finger.

His office fills with the sounds of heavy breathing, muffled moans from Imogen, and barely contained groans from himself. He can feel her getting close, her legs trembling, struggling to stay upright. Leaning his forehead against hers, he removes his hand from her mouth. “Quiet,” he mutters against her lips.

She nods as she kisses him, open-mouthed and desperate, and his thumb draws tight circles on her clit as he angles his fingers against that spot inside her. She’s there. He knows it. “Good girl,” he whispers. “Cum for me.”

She does. Gushes around his fingers, writhing in his arms. He guides her through her high, holding her against the wood-paneled wall behind her. Her head falls against his shoulder as she comes down, and a long whine escapes her throat as he withdraws his fingers.

Leaning back to give her a little space, he takes in her unkempt hair, swollen lips, and the breathtaking pink flush in her cheeks. Her eyes flick down to his hand, then turn to the very obvious bulge in his slacks.

“I–”

She takes his hand, the one with fingers covered in her cum, and brings it to her lips. Keeping her eyes locked on his, she closes her mouth around his digits, swirling her tongue around them, tasting herself. He’s entranced, can’t stop watching her when she hums as if it’s the most delicious meal she’s ever had.

She withdraws his fingers with a pop, letting his hand fall back at his side. They stay there, looking at each other, processing what just happened between them. Not only is she his teaching assistant, but he’s on her dissertation committee. He has power and influence, and while she’s not his student, he is her superior.

“I…” he tries again, but trails off.

She smirks, squaring her shoulders. “Close your mouth, Dr. Floyd,” she says and sidesteps him, adjusting her skirt. “You’re too smart to be a mouth breather.”

She crosses the office, gathering her bag from the floor where she dropped it, and he gets a peek at her panties as she bends over. White lace. His slacks have never felt tighter.

Unsure what to say or do, he stands there watching while Imogen tries to make her hair look presentable. “Alright,” she mumbles after a minute. “See you tomorrow.”

The door closes behind her, leaving Bob in his office, surrounded by books, paper, a chessboard, a laptop he’s forced to own, and the memory of his TA coming undone on his fingers.

There’s only one word to describe the situation he now finds himself in.

“Fuck.”

likes are nice, but reblogs and comments are golden

TAGLIST: @roosterforme, @kmc1989, @bradshawsbaby, @cherrycola27, @wkndwlff, @yanna-banana, @bluezraven, @fandom-princess-forevermore, @hangmandruigandmav, @keyrani, @just-in-case-iloveyou, @solo-pitstop-vibes, @yuckosworld, @have-a-nice-day-k, @writingshae, @the-whitegirl-is-back, @dizzydisaster, @floydsmuse

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abiiors · 5 months

Text

sfw alphabet ❣️ // matty healy x reader

a/n: there is one story in here that is based on true events from my life hehehe. also while we're here i'd like to say that i tried veryyyy hard to keep it strictly sfw but some innuendos did slip through lol cw: mostly fluff, very brief mentions of addiction. brief mentions of morning sickness, some angst but it's very tame overall wc: 5.6k

a = affection (how affectionate are they? how do they show affection?)

matty’s like if you fed a stray cat that one time five months ago—meaning, he’s going to be the most affectionate person ever if you show him even one act of kindness. it doesn’t matter what your relationship to him is, it’s just a given at this point that if you’re close to him, he’s going to go above and beyond for you.

you get your first taste of it when you show up to his house, on the verge of tears and a panic attack from the stress of an upcoming deadline. it’s three weeks into dating, you’re barely even sure if you should be bothering him with your silly little problems (even though later he would scold you for calling them silly little problems).

matty opens the door, takes one look at your face, and instantly pull you into a hug.

“oh, darling, what’s wrong?” his voice is full of concern and you suspect there’s a giant frown on his face.

“everything!”

a little giggle slips out of him and he has to press his mouth shut when you look up at him with a betrayed pout.

“everything? hmm, we gotta do something about that then, don’t we?”

and then that’s exactly what he does.

“should we light a fire?” matty asks once he’s got you a glass of wine (your favourite that he found out about and now always keeps on hand) “you love a good fire.”

“and we can read together?”

“anything you want, baby!”

and even though his face twists into an expression of instant regret as soon as he says it, matty still proceeds to make a fire while you set up blankets and pillows on the sofa. he knows exactly what’s coming though (no seriously, he fondly likes to call your kindle unlimited subscription the bane of his existence)

still, twenty minutes later, snuggled up next to you and cringing through every bad sex scene, he can’t complain. not when he gets to bury his head in the crook of your neck and hear you laugh at his reactions.

b = best friend (what would they be like as a best friend? how would the friendship start?)

loyal to a fault!!!

you can pinpoint the actual date the two of you became friends—years and years and years ago, practically decades at this point, at the ripe old age of fourteen, you got into your first fight.

you can’t remember how the fight started or who it was with. all you know if there were a few words, someone pulling your hair and the next thing you know, you were on the ground, trying to hit any vulnerable spot you could find.

the memories after that are fuzzy—you, school uniform undone, dried blood on your split lip, toeing the grass outside your school and trying not to look nervous. what if some teacher saw it?

you didn’t throw the first punch! what if—

“you look like you could use a fag!” a voice cuts through. it’s a boy you’ve sometimes seen around school. black hair (awfully straightened), a unibrow, thick black glasses, always surrounded by the same three boys.

“i don’t smoke,” you counter and go back to torturing the poor grass.

“i didn’t ask if you smoked, just said you look like you could use one.”

what. a. fucking. twat!

still, you aren’t much in the mood for an argument. “don’t wanna get in trouble.”

the boy shrugs. “you’re already in trouble, mate. but whatever.”

he’s about to leave when you grab his arm. “no wait. why are you being nice to me?”

at that, he grins. “are you joking? we all saw what you did to sam! biggest fucking bully in class and you looked like a badass putting him in his place.”

“wait, really? you really think that?”

“ask george,” (you don’t know who george is) “or ross or adam,” (you don’t know who they are either) “we all think you’re fucking cool.”

that makes you smile too. you hiss quickly though, smiling with a split lip hurts but he extends the cigarette to you once again.

and this time, you accept it gladly.

c = cuddles (do they like to cuddle? how would they cuddle?)

clingiest man in the whole wide world!!! he has to be attached to you at all times otherwise he’s gonna have that horrendously sad little pout on his face all day.

if you’re just at home, watching something on tv then his head is on your boobs (or in your lap but boobs is preferred though) while you play with his hair. every once in a while he nuzzles his face between them and says something that suspiciously sounds like “comfy”

he’s cute though! and it’s not always sexual. you love the fact that he feels so much adoration for you.

if you’re in bed though, you end up being the little spoon because he absolutely loves to flop on you and cover you with his entire body. he’s deliciously warm and smells so incredible (and he smells like home to you). you’ve lost count of the number of times you’ve fallen asleep like that—with his face buried in your neck, his stubble scratching the skin. and even when his arm falls asleep, he won’t make you move your head at the risk of waking you up.

d = domestic (do they want to settle down? how are they at cooking and cleaning?)

he is a brilliant house-husband (and that’s a title he’s claimed on his own).

“no, go sit down babe, let me take care of that for you” or “let me cook for you tonight” or “should i do the laundry while you finish your movie?” are definitely regular matty sentences arround the house.

the few weeks when he’s just gotten back from a tour and wants to do nothing but sleep all day long are probably the only time you do all the chores while he’s also in the house. he does get huffy when he realises you didn’t wake him up and ask for help.

“i could’ve hoovered,” he pouts but it melts away quickly when you pull him into a kiss.

“i know you could have, love, but you looked so peaceful sleeping i didn’t wanna bother you!”

he isn’t very happy about that but he silently vows to stay up and help you the next time.

e = ending (if they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?)

he doesn’t want to let go no matter how much the relationship deteriorates. he knows he can fix this and turn back time and bring back the spark. he knows the weekly fights are just a phase, he knows you love him so much!

deep down, he also knows he’s delusional.

you’re sleeping in two different rooms again, you in the guest bedroom, and he’s in your cold, empty bed. and there’s no way he can sleep that night judging by all the tossing and turning he’s done so far. your latest fight echoes in his head—all the nasty things he said, all the vile things you responded with.

just fuck off then, and don’t bother me again! those were your last words of the night before you slammed the door shut and the loud, defining thud echoed through the whole house.

when morning finally arrives, he knows he has to do it.

he knows he owes you at least this much. to break it off with dignity. to salvage whatever shreds of friendship and love that remain between you.

“we need to talk,” he says as soon as you enter the kitchen, eyes swollen and red and surrounded by bags. lips dry and chapped.

still, you nod. and matty extends you a steaming mug of coffee for the last time.

f = fiance(e) (how do they feel about commitment? how quick would they want to get married?)

he is so down to commit!

he’s started planning a proposal like a year into the relationship. he hasn’t bought the ring yet or anything! in fact, he’s not going to buy a ring at all. not when he plans on giving you his grandmother’s precious ring that she wore every single day until the day she died.

however, he knows the timing's not right. you’re both so busy and you’ve just started a new job. he has a few more tours coming up for the next two years. and well, he has his best friend’s wedding coming up soon, he’s not about to be the dickhead that proposes at someone else’s wedding.

so matty keeps the proposal contained to his day dreams.

he knows it’s going to be at home (he knows how much you despise public proposals) and he knows it’s going to be during the golden hour when you cuddle into him like a sleepy cat. he loves this routine—you, sleepy and gasping for a nap, plopping onto him when he’s just doing his own thing in the living room.

he loves how content you look in the dying light of the sun. how happy and beautiful and utterly perfect.

and matty knows, when he eventually gets down on one knee and asks you to marry him, that’s when it’s going to have to be!

g = gentle (how gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?)

so incredibly gentle!

you can’t remember a single time matty’s ever raised his voice at you. he used to be your pretty, dainty boy but he’s started working out now and he’s got muscles (which you find extremely hot. he’s also got a cute little bubble butt that you love to slap). it’s not that he’s unaware of his own strength but now he puts extra effort in being gentler if you two ever get into a play fight.

he makes sure to never fully pin you down (unless you ask for it 👀) or put his whole weight on you.

h = hugs (do they like hugs? how often do they do it? what are their hugs like?)

he loves them on most days.

his hugs are always the absolute best! it’s like being surrounded by all things matty—his cologne and aftershave, his arms, the softness of his shirt and the feel of his chin on top of your head. you think a hug from matty is the closest you’ll ever come to having a universal cure for every ailment ever.

on some days he gets quite overstimulated though. you can see it on his face when every single sensation becomes a bit too much and as much as you want to bundle him up, you try to give him his space. to let him calm down a bit. you can always just sit there and hold his hand if that’s all the touch he can bear for the moment.

i = i love you (how fast do they say the l-word?)

one month in, completely on accident!

you’re sick with the bubonic plague (a cold) and rotting in bed, surrounded by used tissues, half-empty cups of lemsip, and your trusty little comfort plush. matty’s in full nurse mode, despite you telling him that it’s nothing, you’ll be fine if he left.

it’s only when george calls him for something work related that he relents.

“let me check your fever one last time before i go,” he insists and you roll your eyes. but you have no other choice but to give in. it’s a 100 degrees, exactly what it was an hour ago. not too bad at all, but matty frowns.

“i’ll be back in a few hours, darling, you have to promise to call me if you need anything okay?”

“i will!” you croak out and wince when your throat protests. “now go.”

he holds his hands up in surrender and bends down to press a kiss on your head.

“don’t wanna get you sick matty,” you try to protest weakly but even then you know it’s useless. he’s going to do whatever he wants.

“go to sleep now,” he says, “i’ll see you soon. i love you!” and then he leaves.

ten minutes later, when it finally registers in your fever addled brain, your entire body goes cold. did he—

did you hear it right? no… it’s just the fever right? you’re sick! that must be it.

little do you know, matty had to sit down outside your room for a good two minutes before he could leave the house. and now that he’s in the studio, distractedly working on producing a track, he can’t stop grinning like an idiot.

j = jealousy (how jealous do they get? what do they do when they’re jealous?)

he used to get soooo jealous back when you were “just friends”! (he still is, he just thinks he hides it better)

the first time you really clock it is when you bring a friend to one of their shows. you know sean’s been a fan of theirs for a bit and frankly, you’re quite excited about introducing him to the band.

matty, however, is as far away from excitement as one can get.

he tries to mask his unease, and greets you with a forced smile. “heard you were our special guest, mate,” he nods in sean’s direction and puts his arm around your waist. “hope you enjoyed the show?”

if sean finds any of it weird, he doesn’t say it. he’s smiles bashfully and gushes about how much fun it’s been. you, on the other hand…

“matty…?” you say as soon as you get a moment alone with him.

he’s outside smoking a cigarette staring off into the distance. his jaw looks sharper than it usually does, his lips are pursed in a straight line. you take a deep breath, contemplating whether to address the obvious tension or let it slide. the distant city lights flicker in the background as you approach him, and he finally turns his attention towards you, exhaling a plume of smoke.

"alright?" your tone is a mix of concern and curiosity. when his eyes meet yours, for a moment, it feels like he's searching for the right words.

he shrugs, attempting a nonchalant smile. but you can see through it. so you fold your arms, giving him a knowing look.

matty sighs, stubbing out his cigarette. he leans against the venue's brick wall, avoiding direct eye contact. “thought we were going out for drinks later. just us two you know?”

ahhhh. so that’s what it is.

a tiny tendril of something shoots through your stomach, does something funny to your entire body.

“we are,” you try to stifle a smile. “do you not want to anymore?”

“what? no!” matty sputters, “i mean, yes! of course, i want to get drinks with you, i just thought…”

“you just thought?”

“well you brought a… friend.”

it becomes almost impossible to hide a smile then, and matty narrows his eyes. “you’re laughing at me,” he accuses and narrows his eyes further when you burst into a fit of giggles.

“he’s going home in a bit,” you manage to recover a bit. “you’re stuck with just me i’m afraid.”

that makes matty shake his head and you can finally see a tiny smile peaking through.

“just you… hmm,” he teases. “guess i’ll have to make do with that.”

k = kisses (what are their kisses like? where do they like to kiss you? where do they like to be kissed?)

his kisses always leave you a little breathless.

it doesn’t matter if it’s your first kiss of the day or if he’s been particularly affectionate or if he’s kissed you all over the face—you somehow always end up giggling like a teenager with a crush with your head spinning slightly.

l = little ones (how are they around children?)

so good, it gives you immense baby fever for the next few weeks.

it’s three months into your relationship when his mum insists you spend christmas with their family and you agree to it happily!

his entire family is there! his mum and step-father, his brother and his girlfriend, his dad, his step-brother who’s just had a baby. and that’s the moment you know you’re about to suffer from raging baby fever.

the whole weekend matty is absolutely adorable with the baby. you see him offer to take care of her and feed and change her, you see him making her laugh and smile, but it’s when you see him singing her to sleep, that’s when you truly lose it.

matty doesn’t even know you’re watching him, he's completely immersed in singing his own rendition of you are my sunshine while the baby stares at him with sleepy eyes. but it almost makes you weep when she clutches his finger in her tiny hand and starts to dose off.

the image lingers in the forefront of your mind even when you’re trying to sleep, being spooned by matty and under a cosy duvet. so much so that you have to turn around and bury your face in his chest to stop yourself from squealing at the cuteness.

he’s long asleep by then though. all he does is tighten his hold around you and you’re left to dream of a tiny baby with your eyes and matty’s curls.

m = morning (how are mornings spent with them?)

when you’re not getting off to… other things… mornings are usually very calm and chill. more often than not, one of you wakes the other with a steaming mug of coffee. if it’s a busy day and you don’t have much time to be lazy and cuddly, you just chat about your plans for the day while having coffee and some breakfast.

if it is a lazy day, however, breakfast usually turns into brunch in bed, followed by a nice, long bath full of bubbles!

n = night (how are nights spent with them?)

nights are just as sweet and way more cuddly.

both of you have a little ritual of reading in bed before going to sleep if you aren’t… otherwise occupied. still, he loves to just sit there and listen to you talk about your day or your work in general.

it always makes you laugh how excited he gets about any work gossip you might have for him.

overall, your nights together are so relaxing and sweet and genuinely make you appreciate him so much more.

o = open (when would they start revealing things about themselves? do they say everything all at once or wait a while to reveal things slowly?)

in all fairness you knew much more about matty than he knew about you. he’s always been so open about his friendships and music and all his struggles, still, you knew hearing it from him first hand was going to be different. and you also expected it to take some time.

he doesn’t reveal it all at once though, he thinks he’s trying to make it more palatable for you if he talks about stuff bit by bit.

you’re special to him. he doesn’t want to scare you away by trauma dumping outright! it takes him a bit to open up completely, even when you show him nothing but support. but the more he shares with you, the deeper he falls in love. the more it becomes clear to him that you’re here to stay.

p = patience (how easily angered are they?)

anger isn’t the right word for it really! mostly he just gets annoyed sometimes—like a sweet little toddler with his cheeks puffed up it’s almost funny if it wasn’t so downright adorable. he can’t stay annoyed though! one kiss from you (even though it’s usually multiple in quick succession. a strategic attack really!) his annoyance melts away like butter on toast.

q = quizzes (how much would they remember about you? do they remember every little detail you mention in passing, or do they kind of forget everything?)

matty’s like a walking encyclopaedia for trivia related to you and your relationship! he might not remember what he ate for dinner the night before, but he remembers exactly what earrings you wore for your music awards with him.

you do cheekily quiz him sometimes, and matty just smirks like an insufferable twat. “you can try all you want, love, you can’t best me at this game.” he grins.

“oh yeah? that’s a lot of cockiness healy!”

“go on then, quiz me!” he challenges and you smirk back.

“what did i say before i kissed you for the first time? four years ago that is! i need it verbatim, babe.”

for a moment he looks speechless and the smile on your face widens. it was four years ago after all. you’ve had infinite kisses since then, there’s no way he remembers. definitely not verbatim.

matty stalks closer. “you said…” he drawls between one long stride and the next and then he’s right there in front of you, mouth hovering over yours. so close your lips are almost touching. the air between you two feels charged with lightning.

“you said, you wanted to do this, and i quote ‘since the first time you fixed my smudged lipstick with your thumb’.” and before you have the chance to even react, he’s crashing his mouth on yours, smiling against your lips.

r = remember (what is their favorite moment in your relationship?)

it’s been fondly dubbed as “the mayhem disaster”.

one morning you hear matty go, “no, no, no, mayhem!” you put your book aside, and sit up to listen the curses that follow.

“everything alright?” you call out, confused and curious.

“babe, can you come here a sec?” he responds, making you groan into your cosy cocoon you'd made for yourself. it rained all night before, and now the weather’s just the perfect combination of gloomy and cosy—perfect to cuddle with your boyfriend all day.

which is what you had been doing until ten minutes ago when matty had to get up to let mayhem out into the backyard.

you turn the corner into the living room only to freeze in your tracks and slap your hand on your mouth, still failing to stifle the loud gasp that leaves you.

in front of you sits matty, on the floor, his head in his hands and next to him stands mayhem. except his gorgeous black fur is now fully covered and matted with mud

behind him, you can see muddy tracks and stray leaves he's brought in.

“oh no…” you don’t know if you should laugh or cry at the scene in front of you.

“baby…” you coo softly, both at matty and mayhem, “what happened?”

“he ran straight for a puddle the second i let him out, didn’t you, you twat?” he scolds the pup making you tsk.

that makes him laugh though. shaking his head, matty gets off the floor.

“well, come on you, straight to the bathroom,” he points a finger in the vague direction.

when the two of you finally manage to get him in the tub, matty starts running a bath while you rummage through the cabinet for pet shampoo.

“be a good boy now,” you scratch mayhem behind his ear, grimacing at the mud that’s now under your fingernails.

you crouch down to his level, softly grabbing his face and about to start cleaning. but of course, he takes it as an invitation to play and begins nuzzling you with his head, trying to climb on you.

matty laughs, making absolutely no move to help you. mayhem, covered in mud, tries to climb on you as you try to set him back into the tub gently. but it’s far too late, you’re already covered in mud.

“fuck! my favourite t-shirt!” you whine, looking down at yourself in despair.

“it’s not even yours,” matty laughs while you scowl at him. “besides,” he waggles his eyebrows, “you can always take it off.”

“pervert,” you laugh at him and then proceed to take it off in one fluid motion and chuck it at his face.

your eyes widen when the t-shirt slides off his face, leaving a perfectly round muddy mark on his cheek.

“you got mud on my face, didn’t you?” he dips a hand in the tub and you know what’s coming. “didn’t you?!” he asks again before splashing a handful of water on you.

you squeal as he grabs your waist, pulling you closer, rubbing his cheek against your face, neck, chest.

“matty!” you laugh, trying to get away from him but he holds on tight. “get her, mayhem, get her,’ he giggles and the puppy covers you in wet kisses once again.

s = security (how protective are they? how would they protect you? how would they like to be protected?)

he’s always been protective of you, especially when you’re in public. he doesn’t have to worry about the fans being rude or agressive, but the same can’t be said about random photographers and tabloids.

you thought you knew the extent of his protectiveness. all of that changed the moment you found out you were expecting.

you thought you knew his mother hen tendencies inside and out, turns out you were absolutely dead wrong! matty hovers. so. much.

he’s there, holding your hair every time you find yourself throwing up. he’s there cancelling on appointments and on the boys on days he deems the morning sickness “too serious”. most of all, he won’t let you go up or down the stairs alone. at all.

“i’m pregnant, matty, not an invalid!” you whine one evening when you feel him hovering behind you as you make your way up the stairs.

“i know,” he drags it out as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “i’m just making extra sure.”

your eye twitches. “making sure of what? that the stair monster doesn’t get me?”

you kow he’s rolling his eyes without being able to see his face. “alright, smartarse. i meant more if you got dizzy halfway up or down the stairs.”

“i’ll sit down!”

he hmphs, completely dismissing that logic.

“baby, the stairs have a railing for a reason!”

he hmphs again. “didn’t know it was a crime to make sure my girls were safe!”

that makes you sigh. this is a petty squabble—it’s not your first, it certainly won’t be your last. once you reach the top of the stairs, you turn to face him with another long sigh. “look, baby, i appreciate the concern, but i'm not made of glass. i can handle a flight of stairs without a chaperone.”

“indulge me, okay! we can have this argument every time, or you can just ignore my presence when you’re going up or down the stairs. either way, i’m going to hover.”

“matty!”

but you know it’s useless. besides, his stubbornness is almost endearing. and between that and the pampering that comes with the protectiveness, you might as well just give up your stance now…

t = try (how much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts, everyday tasks?)

he puts in so much thought! it has been like this since date one—since he made sure to accommodate your likes and dislikes and food preferences in finding the perfect place to eat. even after all these years, he takes his time to plan out everything. even if it’s just an at home pamper day for you while he does all the chores.

u = ugly (what would be some bad habits of theirs?)

it’s a low hanging fruit but… the excessive smoking annoys you sometimes. especially because his voice is his job. you’ve told him multiple times to tone it down a little and it’s not like he doesn’t listen. it just… doesn’t always stick.

v = vanity (how concerned are they with their looks?)

depends on where he has to go and what the occasion is. he’ll be dressed to the nines if he has to accompany you to a party or an event but usually he’s fine being in soft comfy clothes that keep him cosy

w = whole (would they feel incomplete without you?)

yes!

this literally needs zero explanation.

x = xtra (a random headcanon for them.)

pots and pans clatter; great, banging sounds first thing in the morning in an otherwise serene kitchen. it wouldn’t be like this, not really but you’re both incredibly sleepy. two figures, one tall and hunched over, the other smaller, softer. cuddled into him. the kitchen is awash in the early morning light, too early if you were to be asked but you’re okay with it. you’re happy and content as long as you get to stay stuck to matty’s side.

he cracks an egg.

“a sunny side up? still want that?” he asks and then laughs to himself. it’s an inside joke to him because, in the end, you’re going to end up stealing the eggs on his plate (a soft scramble) and accuse him of putting more care into his breakfast. which is exactly why he does it; puts more love into “his” breakfast that is. he knows you’re going to end up stealing it.

“can’t have you changing your mind again, darling.” matty ruffles your hair affectionately and tugs at the claw clip holding them together. they cascade down your shoulders; messy, frizzy and big.

this early morning everything is a bit fuzzy; your head, your thoughts. “mmm,” you respond. a sleepy little hmm. it’s quite possibly a yes, or it could be a “hold on i’m still thinking” or even a “don’t really feel like eggs anymore”. in all your years together, deciphering your hmms has been his biggest challenge.

“alright then,” a pause. you cuddle closer simply because his t-shirt is soft and he is very warm. this early in the morning you have no sense of anything else but the familiar warmth and the sizzling of the pan.

“i’ll make some coffee for us,” you volunteer and move away.

the bubbling of the kettle almost puts you back to sleep; it’s soothing, rhythmic. but you keep yourself occupied. your favourite mugs are always hung side by side. his is comically large, in the shape of a pint glass; you always tease him about not being able to finish the coffee, about always finding cold remnants at the bottom of the mug.

yours on the other hand looks more like a bowl; soft pink with tiny daisies all over it. you like holding it in both hands and cuddling it close to soak up some of the liquid’s warmth. on days that are especially cold, matty calls it your “emotional support mug”. and it is.

“okay we have to time this,” you announce and carefully pour hot water into the french press. so now he has about four minutes to finish the eggs. that’s alright, four minutes is all he needs.

“get the plates for us, would you?” he asks, bumping his hip into yours. it’s partly to wake you up some more, partly because he’s not very coordinated first thing in the morning either.

you’re about to grumble. getting the plate means leaving your comfy spot and having to open the door, dig around, close it again; so much work really. but matty is quicker. he knows this grumble is coming and he knows a tiny kiss on your nose always does wonders.

unfair really, that he should know you that well.

“hmm,” you huff and start the trek to the cabinet. matty snickers at the way you drag your feet, like a child being told to clean her room. always a grump before you’ve had some food and caffeine.

“such a grump,” he teases, “c’mere.”

when you stop in front of him, two plates in hand, he immediately sets them aside and pulls you close. your eyes are droopy, soft and sleepy. there’s no resistance when he tilts your chin and kisses you sweetly; a lingering soft kiss.

then he holds the steaming mug of coffee in front of you.

it’s as if the aroma makes you come alive; you perks up instantly, eyes finally open and hands reaching to cradle the bowl-like mug, to hold it close to your chest. you don't just drink the coffee, you indulge in it.

“right!’ you speak after a few sips, and proceed to steal his eggs.

y = yuck (what are some things they wouldn’t like, either in general or in a partner?)

snobbiness is a big no no. he really hates it when people retend like they’re better than someone else just because they have more fame or success or money.

he would absolutely despise himself if he ever turned into that person. and regardless of who he’s with at the moment, he makes sure that they don’t possess that quality.

z = zzz (what is a sleep habits of theirs?)

so erratic it’s worrying sometimes.

you tried to figure out if he was a night owl or a morning bird but it’s genuinely so unpredictable that you had to give up after a few weeks later.

one thing remains consistent though, wherever he is, he won’t go to bed without talking to you and telling you he loves you! even if he’s on the other side of the world, calling you with sleepy eyes and drooping curls while you hold your morning cup of coffee. even if he’s just got back home at 2 am and you’re already fast asleep. matty makes sure to whisper a little i love you and place a kiss on your head before he goes to bed.

reblogs and comments are always appreciated <33

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morallygreyyn · 1 year

Note

Hey!! Could you do some hcs for the hxh boys having hanahaki disease for the reader? You can decide whether they get a happy end where they confess and the reader realizes feelings for them or no :p

hanahaki disease with the hxh boys (hisoka, kurapika, illumi headcanons)

authors note: omgggg i've always been obsessed with this myth but i completely forgot about it until you reminded me anon! i'm so happy i got a request for this! i chose happy endings bc who doesn't want a happy ending with our favourite boys?

the surgery to remove the disease doesn’t exist in these headcanons bc i couldn’t be arsed to write about it

live or die by the disease bitch there is no other option

warnings: mentions of death, blood

read part two here!

requests are open!

hisoka had known you for a long time

you were close confidants, and dare i say it, best friends

he admired your strength, how you never failed to join in on his chaos, and fire back at him whenever he made a quip

with how well you two got along, it was only a matter of time before he coughed up the first petal

he knew immediately what was happening, he was a man cultured in myths and legends after all

he was more shocked at the realisation that he loved you more than the fact that he just coughed up a flower petal

and you didn't love him back

he couldn't blame you, even though you liked to fool around with each other, you had never been serious with your flings and it was strictly no strings attached

well now it was apparent that there were strings

the magician couldn't pinpoint the moment he had fallen for you, he supposed it was a gradual thing

but one thing was for absolute certain, he was in love

and he was dying because of it

hisoka is a man of mystery and many secrets but this...

this he would probably tell you about after a while of mulling it over

during this period, his coughing got worse until eventually he couldn't take it anymore

he would go straight to you, letting himself into your house as he usually did

hisoka could feel the pain in his lungs when you looked at him and smiled

he would suppress the coughs as best as he could while he figured out a way to tell you

i feel like his confession would go one of two ways

either he would be outright and serious for once

or he'd make a performance out of his dying body

let's explore the serious option first

you, having caught onto the fact that something was very wrong, took your friend’s hand which only made his coughing worse. "what's going on hisoka? you never get sick."

he laughed dryly. "it would appear that I'm in love with you."

you didn't believe him of course. "you're joking."

hisoka coughs into his hand, revealing petals tainted with blood. "does this look like a joke to you?"

OR the performance option

"it would appear I'm in love with you." he coughed into his hand and threw the contents in the air, several flower petals soaked in blood rained down on your head. "surprise."

it doesn't matter which option he chooses, you're still frozen in shock

"i thought it was just a myth." you stared at the bloody petals in horror

"me too."

the room fell silent, hisoka wondering what his fate would be based on your response

i can’t see him as a person who cares whether he lives or whether he dies

i can see him just sitting there on your couch, staring with bored fascination at your living room while he waited for you to drop the guillotine over his head

his lungs and throat were writhing in pain, but hisoka was never one to be put off by this

what he didn’t expect was for you to then turn to him, grinning

“i love you too.”

his face drops

“yeah, i love you too hisoka.”

hisoka would’ve been amused by how quickly the weight on his chest dissipated if it weren’t for his shock

however it didn’t take long from him to recover from this and he swoops you into an embrace

which of course leads to more

and oh boy hisoka was never happier to be alive

would 100% not tell you

the second the first petal fell from his lips, he knew immediately that it was you

he also knew that he could never tell you

you didn’t love him back and he didn’t want to make you feel bad about that fact

how could he not love you though? you were his biggest source of joy and the one he cared for most in this world

his would hide the disease from you for as long as possible, smothering his coughs with great effort

the longer he did this, the worse it got

he knew he was going to die and he accepted that fact

he didn’t want to die, but he knew he could never tell you

kurapika would try and avoid you towards the end

dodging your calls and skipping on meeting up with you until eventually he stopped contact altogether

you, extremely worried about your friend, went to go visit him unannounced

letting yourself inside, your heart dropped in horror at seeing him

kurapika looked like a ghost

his face was hollow, lips chapped and stained red

he would insist he was fine, even though he clearly he wasn’t

eventually he wouldn’t be able to hide it anymore, launching into an extreme coughing fit, him throwing up petals, whole flowers and blood

having heard of the disease before, you could only ask who he loved and who didn’t love him back

this time, he looked you directly in the eyes. “you.”

cue your shock and horror

kurapika had to avert his gaze, he didn’t want to see your disappointment in his final moments

he hated himself enough for having these feelings but he didn’t want to see you hate him too

his lungs were more branches and flowers than tissue at this point

the kurta was just about to get up and leave when your voice stopped him

“wait.”

he waits

“you have this disease because you love me and you think it’s unrequited, correct?”

“yes.” he didn’t want to add that he didn’t just think it was unrequited

“what if it wasn’t unrequited?”

“then i wouldn’t be dying.”

“then i don’t understand.” you shook your head, suppressing a smile. “because i love you too.”

he stops

kurapika literally stops working

his brain shuts down and his body comes to a complete standstill and he just stares at you in shock

you feel the need to confirm it for him. “i love you too kurapika.”

he couldn’t hold himself back anymore

regardless of his sick body, he rushes to you and pulls you into the tightest hug

his chest clears, feeling light and unrestrained

he kisses you and kurapika can finally breathe again

this boy is so damn confused when coughs, and then even more confused when he sees a petal in his hand

what on earth is happening to him?

doesn’t even realise he’s in love

it takes him a couple of days and a couple more instances of coughing up flowers for him to realise something was wrong with him

a quick internet search yields the results he was looking for

cue more confusion

unrequited love was the cause?

would think long and hard about who in his life he could have these impossible feelings for

then his thoughts eventually arrived on you

and when they did, he couldn’t stop thinking about you

so he loved you? why? what was the reason? when did this happen?

many many questions were circulating through that beautiful head of his

reading further about the disease, he realised that the disease would only go away if you loved him too

if not, he would die

not one to be scared by death, he decided on not telling you

why would he? it was pointless anyway if he was going to die

doesn’t even consider the chance that you might love him back

takes the unrequited part as fact and sticks with it

illumi is a tough boy so it takes ages for him to finally be run down by the disease

is a master at hiding his coughs

he has a reputation to uphold after all

he even keeps it from his family, determined to take his shame to his grave

would honestly have to be on the brink of dying for him to show that he’s suffering with the hanahaki disease

luckily you like to meet up with illumi very frequently and you had become quite attuine to his stoic attitude and personality

to the point where you could pick up the most minuscule of differences in his behaviour

it didn’t take you long to realise something was wrong with your friend but no matter how hard you pushed, he would shoot you down

cue you becoming the best investigator the world has ever seen

it started when, after illumi had left the bar, there was a single bloodied petal sitting in his place

you took the petal back home and began researching

it took you a while but you eventually found out about the hanahaki disease though you couldn’t believe that this was what illumi was struggling with so you kept searching

however your search was in vein and all you had to go on was a myth about unrequited love

so the next time you met up with illumi, you kept an even closer eye on him

watching the subtle ways in which he would suppress what would normally be very painful coughs

the way his lips seemed a bit more chapped and red than normal

the way his already pale skin became more translucent

you had to face the facts, illumi was suffering with unrequited love

and it was killing him

you couldn’t bear the thought of losing illumi

but who on earth was he in love with? and how could you convince them to save his life?

realistically you knew there wasn’t much you could do

but out of desperation, you confronted him about it

“when were you going to tell me about your hanahaki disease?”

“i wasn’t.”

“have you told anyone?”

“no.”

you weren’t one to be easily frustrated, but for some reason you couldn’t watch him throw away his life so easily

in a fit of despair, you blurted. “please find some way to fix it, i can’t bear the thought of losing you.”

“why?”

you didn’t think about your words before you said them. “because i love you.”

he froze

you kept going, putting your own feelings to the side in an effort to save the man stock-still before you. “and it’s because i love you that i’m scared of you dying, so please just find whoever it is and confess to them. i’m sure they like you back if they’ve got the great illumi zoldyck dying for them.”

it was then that you noticed his expression

you would almost say he looked relieved? but surely you had seen wrong

it was illumi after all

“ah, it’s gone now.” he somehow sounded much better than a couple of minutes ago

“gone? how can it be gone whe-” it didn’t take you long for you to realise what had happened

illumi looked at you expectantly

“you love me?” you asked in a small voice, afraid that this was a bad joke even though you knew illumi was practically incapable of making them

“evidently.”

needless to say that that was the start of a wonderful relationship that even illumi couldn’t have imagined happening

but he wasn’t complaining

not in the slightest

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dirtytomatoedwrites · 7 months

Text

ONLY HUMAN

Summary: Changes are happening. Rafe can feel it.

Paring: Rafe Cameron x Fem!Reader

Strictly 18+ No Minors to Interact

Warnings: Dark!Rafe, Dub-Con/Non-Con, "Blood-Drinking", Character Death, Smut, Horror.

Word Count: 2k words

Author's Note: Wanted to contribute to Kintober but also wanted to experiment with how and what I write. Hope you enjoy and Happy Halloween 😈

Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Please don’t steal or copy bits of my writing or any writing from other writers cause karma will get ya.

It was the headaches that first hinted something was wrong.

Not just mild, fleeting headaches, but relentless migraines. They were excruciating, bouts of pain that seemed to originate from deep within his skull, right behind his eyes and radiating outwards in waves.

They were accompanied by disturbing visual auras—shimmering zigzags of light that swirled around his field of vision, making the world seem fractured and broken. He couldn't help but wonder if something sinister was taking root—something malignant, something deadly.

Over-the-counter pain pills and the heavy prescribed meds from his dad’s bathroom cabinet didn’t help. Being exposed to sunlight only made things worse; once a source of warmth, now felt like molten fire, forcing him to wear his sunglasses indoors. But after a while even that didn't work.

The only respite came when he submerged himself in utter darkness. And so his days became isolated, cocooned within the confines of his bedroom. The thick, heavy curtains drawn creating a sanctuary from the glaring sunlight that now felt like an enemy.

Cloaked in this artificial night, he clung to the few comforts that remained: scrolling through his Instagram feed to stay connected with friends. But even their mundane accomplishments made him feel worse, knowing the world carried on—while his was standing still.

Topper boasted about his championship win and how his dad was lending him the family boat to celebrate. Kelce posted pictures of himself at the golf club, scoring a suspiciously low 90. And then there was you. Sweet you. Pretty you.

“When did you get a puppy?”

He clicked on the video, showing you cradling the little fur ball. Despite the pain, a chuckle escaped Rafe's lips.

Ah, so it wasn’t your pup after all but a friend’s, he mused. He watched as you gently petted and cooed at it, your voice a calming balm soothed even his anxiety while his gaze drank in your contented features slowly, lingering just a tad too long on your eyes and lips.

Clearing his throat Rafe clicked off the vid.

RAFE- Yo can you guys quit posting this shit? You know I'm dying over here. Don't need to feel like killing myself too.

The boys' "lols" and your kiss and hug emojis, along with well-wishes, made him smile, giving him a glimmer of hope. "It'll pass in a few days," Topper responded. "Migraines can't last forever. You'll be up and about soon," you assured. And for a brief moment, Rafe believed it.

But then, the loss of appetite hit him.

Food suddenly didn't have the same appeal anymore, not after the headaches started. Bland, tasteless, gagging on his favorite meal—the texture of food itself seemed off somehow, like it wasn't going down quite right, like it wouldn't clear his throat when he swallowed it. And if the terrible texture wasn't bad enough, it tasted like it wasn't made for human consumption. Every bite seemed artificial, a blend of plastics and chemicals.

Drinking water only seemed to make things worse—every sip led to a lurching of his stomach, a violent uprising of nausea that ended with him hunched over the toilet, retching, even when it seemed there was nothing left.

Enough was enough.

He decided to video call Dr. Morris.

"Were you able to take your temperature recently?" She asked as she scribbled down his list of symptoms.

Rafe touched a hand to his forehead. "Yeah, it’s pretty normal. Checked it this morning; it was 98.6, or maybe just a touch below."

"Alright..." Dr. Morris murmured as she scribbled notes. "And the headaches, did they appear with the eye changes?"

"Eye changes? What changes?"

Dr. Morris gave a short laugh as if he was pulling her leg but stopped immediately when he didn't laugh with her. "There's discolouration around the edge," she said, her finger making a circle near her own pupil. "It's crimson. Haven't you noticed the color change?"

Rafe leaned closer to the screen, trying to see the reflection of his own eyes. They did seem different—possibly a bit darker around the edges? It was hard to tell in the dim light.

"I haven't noticed—no offense, doc, but I've had other things on my mind," he replied tersely. "So, what's wrong with me?"

"These symptoms can indicate many things: the flu, food intolerance, a bacterial infection. We'll need to run tests. But given your age and lifestyle, I suspect it's just a bug. I'll refer you to Claire for a blood test appointment this week, and in the meantime, I'll prescribe something for nausea to help you keep food and fluids down."

"Alright... doc." he nodded with a sigh of relief "That sounds like a plan."

Time bore down upon Rafe, its weight an oppressive force that enveloped each passing moment, shrouded in the inescapable cocoon of artificial darkness. The world outside seemed distant, lost behind the heavy curtains drawn across the windows.

Confined within his dimly lit room, the persistent throb in his head wove a malevolent lullaby, blurring the boundary between reality and hallucination. The antinausea pills only dulled the edges of his suffering, allowing sips of water to stay down, while he managed to eat small morsels of food. But a hunger unlike anything he had ever experienced before clawed at him from deep within, a gnawing emptiness that defied satiation.

Amidst his despair, his Instagram feed served as his bridge to the outside world, a bittersweet reprieve. Travels, festivities, sporting events—brief snapshots of lives that captivated him as long as it took to scroll. Yet, within those fleeting glimpses, you shone distinctly. A light in the darkness. With a magnetic radiance, your digital presence seemed more real than the dim walls surrounding him. He found himself irresistibly drawn to you, toggling between your Instagram, TikTok, and Facebook, silently observing every aspect of your life.

You were his friend and yet, with each photo and video, you unveiled new layers he had never noticed before. Were you always this serene? This happy? Your laugh that infectious? Peace seemed to radiate from you. And he found himself wanting to understand its source. Your digital presence had become a double-edged sword—offering him solace at one moment and then amplifying his torment in the next.

And then one night, the comforting yet painful ritual of immersing himself in your virtual world was interrupted.

Rubbing his eyes, aching from the screen's glare, he decided to splash some water on his face. Entering the dimly lit bathroom, he was startled by his own reflection. Leaning closer to the mirror, his eyes just inches away from the glass, he scrutinized the change.

The crimson around his pupils had grown darker, more pronounced, and now covered most of his pupil.

But what scared him more was the pulsing pattern. Every heartbeat seemed to send ripples through the shade, expanding and contracting with his pulse as if it had a life of its own. As if it were connected to some deeper, more sinister force within him.

"What the fuck?"

Panic set in, and Rafe fumbled to switch on the brighter overhead lights, hoping that maybe the subtle light from the bathroom bulb was playing tricks on him.

But under the stark, unforgiving light, the reality became even clearer. His heart raced, matching the rhythm of the ominous pulsing in his eyes. It was as though something was alive in there. A parasite. A silent watcher buried deep within, looking back at him from the mirror.

And just as that thought gripped his mind, another thought intruded, one that wasn't his own.

SLEEP

A dark siren echoed through his consciousness, promising peace and tranquility if only he gave in.

SLEEP

Its voice dripped with honeyed sweetness, promising it would make it all better.

SLEEP

Rafe felt its presence, an intangible force that clouded his thoughts, pulling him down into an abyss of darkness. He wanted to resist, to fight back against the compulsion that demanded his obedience. But fatigue suddenly weighed heavily on his eyelids, and the false comfort of the voice was impossible to resist.

SLEEP

With trembling hands, Rafe switched off the bathroom light, the shadows immediately lengthening and merging into one great expanse of blackness.

SLEEP

Suddenly, his steps were heavy, as if sinking into quicksand, his mind numb and zombified as he trudged along. Exhaustion made it a struggle to even reach his bed, and when he finally collapsed onto it, heart pounding against his ribcage, he began to sob because he knew he was surrendering to the unknown.

You awaken with a jolt, your heart racing and your eyes darting wildly in the pitch black. The air in your bedroom feels thick, an ominous heaviness that chills you to the bone. Your bed, once a sanctuary of familiarity and safety, now seems alien and cold beneath you.

Something catches your attention—a subtle but undeniable weight at the foot of your bed.

With trepidation, you force yourself to look down, and sheer horror grips you.

There, bathed in the eerie glow of the moonlight, is Rafe—or at least what remains of him. His posture is slumped, defeated, his silhouette a mix of lost and predatory.

Your throat tightens, and a scream gets stuck within it, but before it can escape, Rafe's voice—eerie and unlike him—cuts through the silence. "I had to see you... it commanded me too."

In a supernatural blur, he's suddenly upon you, his weight oppressive and suffocating. His skin is sickly pale, drawn tight over gaunt cheekbones. But it's his eyes, blood-red radiating pure evil, that hold you captive.

His icy fingers glide over your face, every touch searing your skin like a brand, a mixture of tenderness and threat that has you trembling.

"You're scared," he rasps, his voice a deathly whisper. “I’ll make it so you’re not."

The moment your lips meet, everything fades—your perception of past, present, reality; memories; even the chilling dread that had consumed you. Suddenly you're floating in a void, a liminal space between desire and oblivion.

His lips are a potent elixir, and with every passing second they pull you deeper into a spellbound haze. Your body is electrified with the intensity of his embrace. Every inch of skin comes alive beneath his ice cold touch.

Every whisper of breath; moan; gasp emanating from your lips mingles with the steady beat of your pounding heart. Your thoughts evaporate like wisps of smoke as the kiss intensifies to lust that surpasses all understanding.

His fingers leave a trail of fire down your exposed torso, as his hands slip away your clothes and his own. You do not notice. You're too consumed by pleasure and need alone. The need to be taken. The need to be fucked.

Suddenly he's pushing inside you and moving against you with an impatient hunger, claiming you for himself until you become one entity with one pulse, one breath, one desire—to reach ecstasy together.

With an animalistic vigor, he thrusts into you again and again, faster and harder, each stroke more powerful than the last. Pleasure builds inside you until there are no boundaries between pain and pleasure, only bliss. Bliss consumes every fragment of your being, building into an orgasm so profound, so primal, mounting higher and higher until—

Cold fingers seize your chin, jerking your head to reveal the delicate skin of your neck. Your eyes widen as grotesque, razor-sharp fangs extend from Rafe's perfect white teeth.

With agonizing force, they snap onto your throat, synchronizing with the grinding of his hips, and the sudden, overwhelming orgasm that tears you into a million pieces. Your muscles convulse and quiver around his cock, while Rafe's grip on your shoulder tightens, anchoring you in place as he drinks deep.

"What's happening?" you choke, sensing your heartbeat slowing. Tears now cascade down your cheeks, mingling with the blood trickling from your collarbone, staining the once-pristine white bedsheets.

"Rafe... I'm scared," you whisper, your grip on his arm weakening as desperation fills your fading gaze.

A monstrous hunger gleams in Rafe's eyes as he briefly withdraws, crimson trailing from his lips. An unsettling vitality now surrounds him, no longer pale or sickly; he appears healthy and handsome, reminiscent of his former self – a picture of perfect health.

In a cruel mockery of tenderness, he raises your wrist to his mouth, his eyes gleaming with ravenous hunger. With savage grace, he sinks his bloodstained fangs into your vein.

The world seems to bleed into his mouth as your life force drains. Each beat of his heart grows louder, stronger, overpowering the diminishing rhythm of your own, which slows... slows... and finally fades into silence.

GIF by outerbankspov

HAPPY HALLOWEEN MY LOVES 🖤😈😘

--------------

Thanks for reading x If you enjoyed it please like/reblog/drop a comment would love to know what you think. Until next time ❤️

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allyriadayne · 4 months

Note

will someone explain to me what the deal is with asoiaf lore? i'll see someone talking about something and it will come from martin responding to a fan letter from the 90s? and this is canon?? like who found and compilates all of the stuff he has said besides released books and interviews i guess. i've never been a fan of a series like this, is this common?

this has me genuinely in tears sorry 😭😭😭

okay serious now. i genuinely don't know if this is normal or expected in fantasy book series, at least i don't think it's that common in modern fantasy where the fashion has gone other ways from the expansive sword & sorcery type from the 20th century. i could not tell you if other fantasy authors are as involved as grrm is because i haven't been involved with any other fandom like this either (maybe lotr fans can say something different), but considering the years between publications (let this one be the last 🤞), the massive fanbase and fame of the source material, i think it's normal that his interviews, comments, and fanmail has been archived in the internet.

strictly speaking, everything outside asoiaf (books 1-5), fire and blood, and the dunk & egg books is not considered canon. BUT if the info comes from people like elio and linda like twoiaf book, or like the calendars, cookbooks, official art etc it's considered semi-canonical, just like anything grrm says /outside/ of the books. famous example, it's like when jk rowling said dumbledore was gay /after/ the books were done. it's semi canonical bc it comes from the author themselves, it doesn't affect the main body of work so it can be taken or discarded.

the thing is, martin has done A LOT of interviews and answered A LOT of fanmail and worked closely in answering doubts from the westeros dot org site for their rpg games set in westeros (girl, the dream) during the more than 30 years since the publication of agot. all this is considered semi canon and this archive is called "so spake martin" (SSM), which i think was started by elio & linda in the 90s and it's still collecting info. if you go to the awoiaf wiki, esp in the main series characters you'll see this citation (from tyrion's page):

most will be things like "martin has said tyrion has similarities to richard iii" (i mean duh) but other will be really neat like saying tyrion has been trained in arms, which while not something new (he does fight more or less ably during the blackwater battle) it's interesting to point out when it's a detail that may be lost in the series. it goes from character trivia to how casterly rock is different from the show. most fans take what he says seriously but i know there are people that only consider what's in the book and that's it, which is fine. in any case, most of these is used to enrich theories or character analysis, it's why you will see trivia from a fanmail from 1996 or whatever. i myself haven't read SSM completely one by one but i do like to peruse the wiki often, even if it's not complete.

i've seen a few blogs on here who also "collect" grrm's words like nobodysuspectsthebutterfly's "so spake martin" tag (mostly analysis but really interesting read if u don't want to go thru the westeros org page) or georgescitadel that has specific info about characters or themes in asoiaf.

#ask #Anonymous #im currently reading og fantasy like the fafhrd and grey mouser books and all that. not lotr......i could not get into it #so i cannot say if it's different in other fanbases #if anyone has other things to add abt the subject you are most than welcome #hope i answered some of anons doubts

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howtofightwrite · 1 year

Note

What's gonna happen if someone gets shoot in the head? Will flesh and blood go all over the place, or will it be a small entry and exit, or will it be something else? Tryna write a zombie story rn and I'm not sure 😭

Usually, they die.

How much damage the head suffers will depend on what was fired. Specific cartridges result in different wound patterns, and if you have a forensic background, you may even be able to identify the bullet used based on the entrance and exit wound. Smaller handgun rounds are likely to result in less tissue disruption. Rifle rounds are more likely to cause serious structural damage, and shotgun shells (particularly buckshot) are likely to cause serious tissue disruption. But, there's another consideration, the more the decomposed the target, the more a round is likely to do. This one's honestly pretty hard to assess in generalities, because there are a lot of factors for decomposition.

This also leads into a far more difficult question, “what happens if you shoot a zombie in the head?” The answer might be, “nothing.”

So, there's two groups of zombies in popular fiction, and the answer to the above question hinges on which one you're examining. Zombies can either be infected with rabies or actual undead, and the latter are far more uncommon in modern pop culture.

A lot of popular zombies are, technically, alive, but cognitively functioning on a more animal level. In many cases, their symptoms are fairly similar to a sever rabies infection (though, the 28 Days Later series is one of the rare cases where the infection is, explicitly, a variant of rabies.) This also includes cases where the infection is from a parasite (many of the later Resident Evil games and of course The Last of Us are examples of this.) In these cases, destroying the brain stem (and, for that matter, destroying the brain) should be effective. The zombie is still propelled by using their nervous system. There's a bit of an exception in cases where the infection creates a second, parallel, nervous system in the victim, which can operate independently of the victim's original.

Living zombies became more popular in the 90s, and were extremely frequent in the mid-2000s. Most horror films that try to downplay the supernatural component, or look to play up the bio-hazardous nature of zombies, is likely to use some variant of these. (As mentioned earlier, a lot of these tend to behave like mutant strains of rabies. And, while it might sound like I'm being flippant here, rabies is a pretty terrifying virus.)

Living zombie apocalypses are, basically, impossible. There's the usual problem of asking how did the zombies actually get to critical mass? But even beyond that, eventually the infected would simply start dropping as their bodies decayed and the victims died. They'd still be a bio-hazard, but you wouldn't see waves of the undead pressing against the defenders' barricades.

If you want a much more detailed breakdown of the biology of various critters in pop culture (including a lot of zombies), Roanoke Gaming on YouTube is an excellent reference.

The other variety of zombie are far more rare in pop culture, and these are the actual revenants. Either they've been raised by some necromancer, or they're returning due to some other factor. Critically, these zombies are, truly, undead. Shooting them in the head might take it apart, but it's also quite likely that won't put them (back) down, as they're not actually using their original nervous system for anything meaningful. These kinds of zombies are far more threatening. In theory, things like extreme cold would cause further damage to these, but if the necromantic forces animating them don't care about the condition of the zombie, then having fingers or toes freeze off in cold weather, or setting them on fire, might not have the desired effects. You may need to resort to fully dismembering the corpses to get them to stop trying to kill you. (Note that these don't have to be, strictly, supernatural. The Dead Space series remains an excellent example of a non-magical zombie apocalypse of this variety, with some extremely “creative” uses of dead biomass.)

In the case of reanimated zombies, firearms are not a particularly great option for putting them down in general. The damage they inflict simply isn't relevant to destroying the undead. Firearms are designed to poke holes in people and get their body to spring a leak, but if something is already dead, that's probably not going to matter unless you're using the gun to deliver some other kind of payload.

-Starke

This blog is supported through Patreon. Patrons get access to new posts three days early, and direct access to us through Discord. If you're already a Patron, thank you. If you’d like to support us, please consider becoming a Patron.

#how to fight write #Starke answers #writing advice #writing reference #writing tips #looking at gunshot wounds is soul destroying #zombies

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dduane · 1 year

Text

Damn it all, I lost someone's ask

I saved it to draft (so I could deal with it at more length) and it vanished.

The person was saying they wanted to tank up on Young Wizards printed books but were having trouble, due to unavailability of all but "the first one", and prices for both hardcovers and trade paperbacks being all over the place at independent suppliers.

Briefly: this has been a problem for nearly the last decade, and more so since the books' US publisher (Houghton Mifflin Harcourt) was ingested by another larger publisher.

Distribution on these books has always been dodgy, and frankly it's become more so over time, as their publisher keeps changing hands, staff leave or are fired, and sales staffs turn over. Additionally, all the books have appeared in multiple formats over the years, and not all of the books necessarily in all of those.

Confused yet? I know I am, and they're my damn books!

Dealing strictly with the Harcourt editions here: the first three appear only in mass-market paperbacks, with covers by two different artists. The fourth one then appears in mass market and an unusual small-format hardcover. Then (when the series took off with that publisher) all the MMPBs were repackaged, and (starting with the fifth one) were preceded by Harcourt hardcovers. Additionally, as the books were doing quite well in the early 2000s, the sales staff thought it would be a good idea if there were "digest format" editions aimed at younger readers. (These books were only physically larger than MMPBs, with bigger print: no text was ever Reader's-Digest-style abridged/condensed.) And there were only six of these, as the later books were thought to be "more adult" and hence not a good fit for this format.

After that, the remaining three books all went to hardcover-and-paperback, usually a year apart. The digest editions were allowed to gradually go out of print; so were the hardcovers, as demand for them fell off. And that's where we are at the moment, with (as far as I can tell) the MMPBs only being reprinted in small amounts when stocks fall low enough to warrant it.

This situation doesn't really support the books being easy to find. Additionally, older editions of the hardcovers from previous publishers (and older trade paperbacks, ditto) are still out there, and can be had... but at what will look like weirdly high prices. The early Dell hardcovers of So You Want To Be A Wizard, Deep Wizardry and High Wizardry, due to their small print runs, are rare, hard to find, and usually go for hundreds of dollars. (This link at Abebooks will show you what the situation's currently like for the Delacorte hardcover first edition of So You Want To Be A Wizard.) For a long time there was no US hardcover of A Wizard Abroad until SF Book Club published one set from the text of the UK Transworld/Corgi edition. (sigh) And so on. (There's a page over at the Young Wizards site dealing with this wild assortment of covers and formats.)

Now, all that said: Over at Signed Books Direct is our storefront for copies of both the newer and older books. Except for the rarest ones, we sell them at cover price (and are happy to do so, because FFS nobody needs this many of their own books). :) I acquired a lot of these from Harcourt when word came down that warehouse space was tight, stock was being winnowed, and I could have these on the cheap—or, it was heavily implied, they would be pulped. And as someone who due to a weird confluence of circumstances had half the print run of her (strongly-selling!) first novel pulped in the warehouse, the mere word, even after forty years, makes my blood run a bit cold. So I laid out the necessary cash and gave those books a home. And when people find ones they want, I sell them on to new homes with great pleasure.

So the thing for you to do (O person whose ask was in an evil hour eaten by Tumblr) is use the SBD contact email on this page to query me about what you're looking for. I'm presently in the middle of reorganizing the store's inventory so it reflects what we've actually got. The website's about to be reorganized to reflect what's on the shelves in the boot room, but that's not gonna happen this week.. so don't take what you see on the site seriously. Query me about what you're after, and as soon as I've had a rummage in the shelves, I'll get back to you.

HTH!

(And for those of you wondering, "But what are you doing about the distribution problem?" ...right now the answer is: "What my agent and I can." More news as it becomes available.)

#Young Wizards #printed book availability

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heyhilana · 1 year

Note

Hi. I don't know if your taking requests atm but I love your work and was wondering if I could request. Here me out - javier pena x reader. Enemies to lovers trope. Something like they work together, have a fight and wake up in each others bodies the next day. They try to embarrass each other and make things worse. Deep down they both like each other but are so stubborn they don't want to admit their feelings for one another but eventually they do and change back to normal. Sorry if that's confusing. If you can't write it that's all good :) just thought I'd ask. Thanks again.

Hi lovely 😊 Thank you for your request, and I’m sorry that this took me a little while to get to as I've been a little busy. I love the idea, and I tweaked it slightly as I didn’t know exactly what you meant when you said change back to normal so I hope that’s okay! Also, I would’ve made this strictly hate fuck but Javi...he’s just too tender in his scenes to do a hate fuck fully LMAO like we all know that infamous scene where he pulls that girl’s hair and brings her flush to him so my point stands. But, hugs and love and as always, drink water. 💚

Summary: Two unlikely and rather animosity filled partners could accurately describe you and Javi. But after a shitshow of a meeting with the bosses, tensions are pulling at the strings that create a crescendo that’s undeniable in a random office you decide to walk into. But it’s the aftermath from the next day that threatens everything of detachment and realization.

A/N: Hi, lovelies! Just to remind you all, requests are open; if and when I need to close them, I will update my masterlist to say they are closed. There is more in my masterlist about who and what I’ll write about for notes. But beyond that, this was super fun for me to write, and I got to rechallenge myself. Also, thank you so much for 1k followers! I never thought I would reach that with my inconsistency, but it means the world to me that you guys enjoy my works and you want to support me :)) But for now, I hope you enjoy reading this! :)

Pairing: Javier Peña x !f reader (enemies/coworkers to lovers)

Warnings: (What can I say? I love a little spice) Hair pulling, spanking, rough grips, orgasm denial, foul language, f and m oral receiving, cum shot on ass, unprotected because this was unexpected hate fuck (but wrap it up), a little bit of degrading, but that's all I can label.

Word Count: 6.1k (You know what it be LMAO)

“You’re an asshole.” You spat, walking out of the boardroom and turning sharply on your heel down the hall.

Asshole was an understatement. Infuriating, jerk, jackass, arrogant, intolerable, the list could go on. Javier Peña, somehow your new partner when you were sent down here, and you would’ve chosen anyone else over him. If it meant peaceful, level-headed conversations, you would’ve even taken the secretary to be your partner. Being at his throat on an everyday basis was draining, lighting fires in you every time he got under your skin.

“I could say the same about you.” Catching up to you and jaw tightening, his presence was something you wanted to shake, but you couldn’t.

“You do it every day.” A dry laugh echoed from you as you walked into the empty office, turning on the lights.

“That’s because you give me a reason to.” You half sat on the desk as he leaned against it in the doorway. How could he be so calm while your blood was boiling, the tipping mark fading into the distance.

“Oh I give you a reason when you get your ass handed to you most days.” You hissed, venom laced in your tone as you folded your arms.

“Did we go to the same meeting because you got your ass handed to you as well in there.” You wanted to forget it all. Crosby and Noonan taking turns tearing into you both over negligence and overall stupidity. A waste of 15 minutes when you could’ve been home, far away from him, since he walked further into the room.

“That’s because your fuck-up got us here.” You tried to keep your voice down as you heard your superiors leaving the building. When you both heard the elevator door open and close, you knew there was no one else there besides you two.

“My fuck-up? It was you who didn’t trust my informant.”

“Because she lies more than she tells the truth! And why would I trust any girl who you’ve been fucking more than talking to.” He narrowed his eyes at you and walked closer, this being the closest you could tolerate since you could feel something brewing in you that you couldn’t place your finger on.

“What I do is my business. I don’t let it cloud my judgment.” He looked down at you, and you kept eye contact, the glare intensifying as you cocked your head slightly.

“You sure about that?”

“What the fuck are you implying since I’m not the one who slept my way up here.” A low blow. Rumors had traveled with you the moment you arrived. The only woman who was qualified for the job, every man was against you for supposedly taking their spot when they didn’t earn it. You worked just like everyone else did, and he was only doing it to get under your skin.

“Don’t you fucking believe that I slept my way up here when you sleep your way into information that leads to fuckups.” Deflection at its finest with him, but you weren’t having it. You were going to leave, but he closed that gap between you, his legs right on yours, and you sat more on the desk. His hands were on the desk, and he was dangerously close to you, your heart pounding out of anger and curiosity about what he would do.

“I don’t let a fuck get in the way of my job. You may be new here, but this is how it goes.” His eyes had never looked so dark before, and you were unsure of why you couldn’t break eye contact with him. Infuriating, yet the pool of desire had grown significantly when you moved your legs.

“You know what? Fuck you.” You spat at him. You could tell he was taken aback by your boldness, but he remained firm where he stood.

“Fuck you.” He enunciated those words, but when you saw the flicker down to your lips ever so slightly, you felt that small stoke of the flame reach new heights.

That first brush on your lips that turned into heady, almost feral kisses was nothing that you could expect. How did he manage to have impossibly soft lips, the odd taste of whiskey that made you drunk over him. The nibble on your bottom lip, the groan that did nothing to quell your desire except intensify it. How his hands rose up your arms to pull off your suit jacket, and his fingertips brushed your exposed collarbone. You helped him with taking off the jacket, discarding it on the desk, and kicking off your heels. He pulled off his jacket and threw it somewhere as you were unbuttoning his shirt as fast as you could.

“Someone’s excited,” He mumbled against your lips, unbuttoning the last button for you and taking it off. “This what you wanted?”

“Don’t let that ego of yours get any bigger,” You mumbled back, and he nibbled on your lip in retaliation. “You’re gonna tease me now?” You pulled back to pull off your blouse, moving it on the table again before you went to unclasp your bra in the front. He stopped you, doing it himself and watching your breasts fall, which made him groan.

“You’re the one teasing me.” He countered before his lips were back on yours with more ferocity that you didn’t think was possible. His hands traveled to your breasts, and yours went up and down his body, feeling him and finally understanding why those women would throw themselves at him. Why he was so confident because he felt amazing. Sure, his arrogance got under your skin, but now you wanted him skin-to-skin with you. You moaned in his mouth when he was playing with your nipples, to which he smiled against your lips. Damn him and all the reactions he could get out of you. Fuck him, you repeated in your head, but your body was begging for him to explore you. He left your lips and kissed down your jaw and to your throat, leaving chaste kisses until that one made you whine. The laugh that followed left you embarrassed and more turned on than you wanted to admit.

“I knew you were a little noisy but whining? Something finally coming out of that mouth of yours that I like.” With that glint in his eye from the window, you could see that he enjoyed all of it. Finally having you after months of being at your throat.

“Shut up already.” You feigned annoyance, but he saw right through you.

“Be careful what you ask for.” You couldn’t come up with a retort once he put his mouth on your nipple, his tongue twirling around it, sucking, flicking it. His other hand massaged your other breast, and you instinctively opened your legs more to let him slide in between you. Even with not being a fan of nipple sucking, he made it hot. You looked down at him and saw he was looking at you, eyes a little low, but his gaze never wavering. You put your hand in his hair and tangled in it, gripping a little when he sucked harder.

“Please don’t stop,” You whined further, grinding on the desk to get some friction. He shifted his mouth to your other breast to give it the attention it deserved, and his hands traveled down to your pants, unbuttoning them without a second thought. He pulled at the hem of them, you moved your hand out of his hair, and put your feet back on the floor to get out of them with him stopping with your breasts to catch his breath. He pulled your pants and panties down for you and kissed your hips, then your thighs, your calves, and when you kicked your pants off he put you back on the desk. You leaned back a little as he put your legs on his shoulders, kneeling before you. You gripped the desk for balance as he got close to your dripping pussy, that smile on his face something that would be imprinted in your mind for a lifetime.

“You sure you hate me?” Ever the one to still push your buttons, you rolled your eyes.

“I can’t fucking stand you.” Those little white lies that you both knew were meaningless as he put two fingers right near your clit and dragged it down on the slit, gathering up your slick in one go.

“You sure about that because she’s telling me otherwise.” He held up his fingers and, just like that, coated with your desire for him that you couldn’t deny without feeling foolish.

“Fuck me.” Double meaning as you knew you were in for it and you needed him to fuck you, he kissed your clit and licked gently, making you gasp.

“Gladly.” Flattening his tongue to lick up your hole, the slit, up to your clit, then sucking your clit, and you were gone. You didn’t know how loud you could get until now, hands tangled in his hair as he switched from sucking to tasting your slick near your hole, the wave of pleasure riding through your body with each passing moment. But when those same two fingers brushed at your hole, the small push before fully slotting them inside you, you forgot how good fingering could be. Curling at your spot, the pace that matched with each suck, the moans that vibrated against your clit. You were sure if there was anyone else in the building on a different floor, they would’ve heard you. But all those rumors surrounding your insufferable partner were true.

“So fucking sweet,” He moved his head up to say that and look at you, that look on your face of pure ecstasy was something he never wanted to forget. Biting your lip, eyes a little low, slightly flushed cheeks, and then trailing down your body to see the thin layer of perspiration glowing on your skin, he felt his dick twitch in his pants from that.

“J-Javi, please I-” The all too familiar feeling in your stomach, the intensity rising as he fingered you a little faster, made you clench around his fingers.

“Yeah? You gonna cum on my fingers and make a mess? Déjandome usar tu coño así.” He dove back down to your clit to suck and lick just as he did before. You gripped his hair, and when he curled at that spot, you inhaled a sharp breath and let go, all the sounds you were holding back flowing out and the shutters washing over you. Riding you through it, he slowed his actions just as you stopped shaking, giving your clit a final kiss, and licking at your hole to make you jump. He then brought his fingers to his mouth and got up to show you him tasting it, the act making you clench around nothing when he pulled them out, and they were clean.

“Dulce, mami,” He mumbled before he kissed you, pulling down his pants hastily. You moved your hand down his stomach and palmed him in his boxers, surprised at his size. Even in his tight clothes, you never imagined it to feel this good, this thick. The stretch would be nothing like you imagined, making you pull away from him to get on your knees.

You pulled down his boxers and watched his dick spring up. The rosy red tip with precum leaking, the slight curve, the thickness, it was a sight for sore eyes. You looked up at him and licked your lips before kissing the tip and licking the precum to see him groan and grip the desk. You sucked the tip just enough to tease, making his jaw tighten. You enjoyed the stretch on your lips and jaw as you reached closer to the base. His hand was right at the back of your head, guiding you down nice and slow, coaxing you to take it.

“You can do it, baby. Take every inch of me.” That little praise made you go down to the base, lips touching that soft patch of hair before pulling away, spit dribbling at your lip. You spat in your hand and brought it to the tip, stroking slowly but squeezing just enough to make him hiss. He fucked himself into your tight grip, and you began to move your hand from tip to base, enjoying the way he opened up your grip with how thick he was. You sucked the tip and decided to move your hand down to his thigh to hold him in place to take him to the back of your throat.

“You feel so fucking good. Should’ve known with all that talking you do I should’ve stuffed your mouth.” His knuckles were almost white with how he gripped the desk, and you popped your lips off the tip to glare at him.

“God, you’re so infuriating.” He had a talent for getting under your skin even when you were on your knees for him.

“You’re so much worse.”

“Is this worse?” You put your lips back on the tip and looked up at him.

“N-no.” A smirk was lightly tugging at your lips when you pulled off him again.

“Aw, you’re stuttering.”

“You were doing it first,” Instead of arguing, you took him whole in one go to make him suck in a sharp breath. You kept going just like that, from tip to base taking him until you had to catch your breath and stroke the tip, flicking your wrist a little before going back down to do it again. It kept going like that, Javi was blown away at how long you wanted his shaft down your throat. But something else lingered, and he couldn’t quite put his finger on it.

You could tell he was getting close when a slight whimper escaped his lips. So low that you almost thought it was a figment of your imagination, but it happened again. The sound lit something in you, and you had to get it again, and again, and again because with how much you loved those groans, to hear him have such desperation in his voice, so much ecstasy at your ministrations, it was a high that you never wanted to get off of.

“Right there, baby. Keep going for me, please.” The strain in his voice was evident, and somehow the curve in your mouth grew. There were two thoughts buzzing through your head, surprisingly. To swallow him whole and let him cum, or to deny? Sure, the desire was close to winning, but he had to pay after the stunt he pulled. So, you stopped everything.

“What the fuck was that?” The fire in his eyes elicited a smirk from you.

“You gotta fuck me first if you want to cum.” Toying with him, he pulled you up and pushed you onto the desk, bending you over while you knew you were getting under his skin.

“Oh I’ll fuck you.” Roughly, he pushed inside you, the sheer size making you yelp as he fucked you. Hands gripped tightly on your hips, the grunts that fell from his lips, and knowing that he was taking you just as he knew you would.

“You think it's funny to tease me, don’t you?” He smacked your ass as he thrusted inside you.

“I-I do.” He smacked your ass again, making you bite your lip and hold back your moans.

“Oh, you like the pain,” He smacked your ass three times in a row, and you were sure that it made your ass burn bright red as each sting brought more pain and pleasure from the last. “My handprint on your ass right now is perfect. Little fucking slut.” The way those words fell from his lips would normally make you angry, but it didn’t do anything but make you clench around him harder.

“F-Fuck you!” You stuttered out, pleasure blinding you as you started to meet his thrusts halfway.

“F-Fuck you too.” He pulled you by your hair, and the glimpse you got of light sweat dripping down his face, head full of hair a mess, gritting words through his teeth was breathtaking. He moved your head back down and let go of your hair, resting his hand back on your hip.

You whined a little, feeling your orgasm approach quickly. From how he stretched you out and brushed up against your pleasure spot, you knew it would come quicker than you could anticipate. You wanted to cum without him noticing, but with the pulsing you did all around his shaft, he knew that you were trying to play it off.

“Feels like you want to cum,” He trailed off as he moved one of his hands down to your clit, rubbing tight and fast circles enough to make you jolt up.

“Yes, I need to cum.” You rasped out, barely making a coherent thought in your head. He fucked you through it just until you were about to cum, even denying himself an orgasm before he pulled out, making you turn your head to look at him.

“You thought I would let you cum? So naïve.” He laughed while you were fuming. Why did you think he would let you cum twice after the stunt you pulled? And, more importantly, why were you in this position?

“I fucking hate you.” You gritted through your teeth, getting ready to move away and get dressed, but he stopped you, gripping your hip with one hand to keep you in place.

“I hate you so much more.” He pushed back inside you, and you were relieved to feel him again, even with your mind telling you that he was the enemy. An enemy who could play with your body while simultaneously getting under your skin, bringing you to ecstasy faster than any man could.

But for him, hearing you loosen up on him, the regular insults transforming into breathless moans as your body begging for him changed something in him. A hate fuck that he was used to, getting it out of the way before he would go home to drink and go to sleep. But this? No, he was transfixed on giving you more than he normally would, even if you were everything that he couldn’t stand.

Suddenly, a twitch was felt right up on your spot as your intense pulses increasing with each second. His hand went back down to your clit to rub faster circles, and he bent down just enough to get a little closer to your ear.

“You gonna cum? Use that pretty mouth of yours and scream my name.” Deep, a little raspy even as he encouraged you to cum, you let go and squeezed all around him as you came, much to his pleasure as he tried to ride it out for you. Just as he couldn’t hold it anymore, he pulled out in a haste to cum on your ass. Heavy breaths, body shaking, mind empty, you both were spent. Drunk off the other's touch and how you both felt, you knew you did something that would cause issues in the morning. He moved off to grab a tissue from the desk, wiping off your other ass cheek that he came on and admiring the light handprint on your ass.

“That’s gonna be pretty in the morning.” He commented as he got up. You rolled your eyes and grabbed your clothes which were all over the place, putting them on quickly.

“How does everything that comes out of your mouth annoy me?” You put your blouse back on and looked at him as he put his shirt back on.

“Just before you were enjoying my words.” Your face burned after he spoke, turning your head while you pulled on your panties and then pants.

“That doesn’t count,” You trailed off, voice not as strong as usual given that you knew you were lying.

“Right,” He pulled on his pants, walking over to you to tilt your head up when he finished. “I can go for round 2 at your place.” Your eyes lit up at those words, and you smirked.

“Follow me home then.”

The Colombian sun shined through your bedroom window, cascading a shadow on your bed as you stirred in your sleep. The window was open, making your room a little bit rise in temperature by noon, and you could faintly hear the cars driving down the street. The sheets tangled, limbs as well, an arm lazily wrapped around your waist, you were close to thinking that you were still dreaming. Your back felt warm, and there was a soft rumble hitting your upper back with each breath he took. Finally, you opened your eyes, seeing that the sun was higher in the sky, which you were not used to seeing so much in your apartment. You turned to face Javi, seeing that he was fast asleep, snoring softly as he was undisturbed by your shift in bed.

Somehow, he looks softer than you’ve ever seen him. The sheet rested just above his hip bone, trailing up, you could see his tan skin, the soft expanse of his stomach, his chest, his collarbone, his neck, up to his face. That damned face of his. 12 hours ago, and you couldn’t stand the sight of him, yet he was tangled in your bed, snoring softly. If you didn’t remember that he was the enemy still, you would’ve stared at him until you couldn’t anymore, but when you turned over to finally look at your clock, and it read 8:00 am, you were fucked.

“Shit. I’m late.” You sprung out of bed to close your window. Javi stirred as he rubbed his eyes.

“What time is it?”

“8:00 am. We have to meet Noonan by 8:30.” You rushed it out as you tried to find clean clothes, cursing yourself for not getting up. That alarm you had to set faded into the distance when you brought him to your bed last night. The way his lips felt on your neck made all your thoughts melt away as you let him take you once more.

“Fuck, you’re right.” He got out of bed fast, trying to find his clothes that were discarded in your room. It didn’t take much last night to help him undress, although it was slower, less hasty. The air felt different the second go around, with no pesky insults to throw the other off the scent of surface-level tension, culminating into something more. It was just you and him, using every inch of the bed for as long as you could keep your eyes open. You both put your clothes on and were headed for the door when you turned to face him, your face burning at how this would play out.

“What are we going to tell Noonan?” You asked, and his incredulous look made you sink further into embarrassment.

“What do you mean what do we tell her?”

“She’s going to ask why we’re both late, so we need an excuse.” Perhaps you were overthinking it, trying to avoid the other question that was burning in your head worse than a typical hangover.

“Just act how you normally act and I’ll do the same. Shouldn’t be too hard since this was just a one-time thing.” He brushed it off and walked ahead of you, and it stung in your heart more than his usual banter with you. Nothing was what he thought. Nothing to him when it meant everything to you when he was coaxing you into new highs for him, to unwind for him and let him get to the deepest parts of you. Nothing. Nothing for him, and it was nothing for you as you walked out the door.

“Got it.” The hardness in your voice surprised him when you didn’t catch his eyes again. You were the same as you were yesterday, stoic and angry as he knew you to be most of the time. Yet he realized he liked it more the way you were last night and how he was much softer with you. To have it all again would be nice, but those dreams of tomorrow were not promised in the lives you both lived.

A traffic-filled drive later, you and Javi were in the elevator waiting to see Noonan. You both look disheveled, even with fixing yourself in the car as you drove, but it would still get some comments from her that you didn’t need. The elevator dinged, and the doors opened, and you both walked there as fast as you could, seeing that Noonan’s door was ajar. You walked in first, and Javi followed. and Noonan looked just the same as last night, making you wish you didn’t have to see her today.

“You both look like you went through a pigsty.” She pushed her papers to the side and darted her eyes between you both.

“Shower’s broken.” You made up, and you could see Noonan was fighting to roll her eyes at you.

“Well get it fixed.”

“Will do.” It was best to speak less around her, and when her attention was redirected to Javi, you were in the clear.

“What’s your excuse Peña? Couldn’t bother to iron?” Javi had a backup outfit in his car, yet it was wrinkled, and you could only imagine why that was the case.

“The iron broke yesterday. Didn’t have time to buy another one.” She didn’t buy it at all, and if you weren’t still pissed from earlier, you would’ve fought back a laugh.

“You have time to fuck up everything else but not get ready. Your priorities are wonderful,” You had to stifle a laugh there, or else she would chew you in again. “Just get your shit done and try to fix yourselves up.”

“Understood.” You both spoke in unison.

“And that meeting yesterday was a disaster. I’ve never had partners go against each other like that to save their ass.”

“With all due respect, Y/L/N went out on a limb and I didn’t have much of a choice. She wouldn’t trust my informant even after she met her.” You turned your head to look at him, the urge to slap him making you ball your hand into a fist.

“You seem to make a lot of choices for yourself without much thought, Peña. Don’t act like you have reservations now.”

“Peña’s informant has lied multiple times now, only with some of her intel being useful. I didn’t trust her with this because it could’ve led us to a death trap and he keeps going to her anyways. I had to do what made sense.” The damage control was useless once more, as you could see the irritation in her eyes.

“What would’ve made sense was to follow protocol. You went completely off the rails and were going to put yourself in danger without telling anyone. For that I should send you back to the States.”

“I’m sorry about what I did. It won’t happen it again.” Javi didn’t say anything, and you presumed it was that she wouldn’t believe he was sorry anyways.

“You’re right, it won’t. Figure out how to work together or I’ll put you both on desk duty permanently somewhere else. Now go take care of that paperwork Juarez left on your desks.”

“Yes ma’am.” You both walked out, reminiscent of the night before as you were fuming again. You walked straight to your desk and saw the stacks of files that were as tall as you are right in the middle. Javi’s was a little bit larger, and you wished someone else could help. You sat down and began to sort through them, ignoring the stare he was giving you.

“Your hair looks like it got tangled in a fan.” You scoffed, his first words to you being an insult like always.

“Could say the same for you. You could go undercover as a shaggy dog.”

“You seemed to like it last night.”

“That was a mistake.” You gritted through your teeth. You didn’t look, but you could feel the air shift between you two.

“You’re right. I’m glad we’re on the same page.” He was stoic, maybe a little angry, even when he didn’t have the right to be. After all, it was his idea to treat it as such.

“I’m just following what you said this morning. Nothing remotely special about what happened.” While you were talking to him, deep down, you were reassuring yourself that this was all it was as you read through the files and tried to finish them off. Distractions from how your body shivered from the memories of last night, how he said those sweet little nothings that would echo in your mind longer than they should.

“Something’s finally useful in that head of yours.”

“I’m surprised you have thoughts at all. You only seem to think when it’s about saving your ass.” You took a quick glance and saw he was fuming and doing a terrible job of hiding it.

“I missed it when you weren’t speaking.” He muttered, finishing a file and sliding it over in haste.

“And I can’t wait to get away from you.” You replied, busying yourself with files as you could feel the pang in your heart grow with each passing moment. You blinked away your tears as you thought about last night, returning you to a better place.

Brushing your hair out of your face, the gentle kiss on your forehead. Sweet nothings as he went slow. Completely drunk off of both times, but the second one made you squeeze his hand as he thrusted into you. Again, and again, and again.

Nightfall came, and you were finished with your files. Javi had finished 20 minutes before you did, leaving without saying goodnight. You turned off the light at your desk and grabbed your things, passing by the office for a moment which made you stop in your tracks. Nearly 24 hours ago, he had you bent over in there and then, shortly after, gave you a much tender, softer side of him that you couldn’t stop thinking about. Now, it was as if nothing happened when you wanted to talk about it. Hell, you wanted it to happen again, and again, and again. He made your existence hell, but when you thought about things as you walked into the office, you thought about who he really was. His efforts were unconventional, but he had to get his hands dirty after doing this for a long time. And even with how he pushed back on your efforts, he had reason, as did you. Maybe you had him pegged wrong, but you were going to stick to what you said before. It was nothing, despite it making you feel everything.

You went to the elevator and hit the garage level, fighting back tears as they threatened to fall before you got in the car. What were you feeling over one night? Was the first time what tipped you over the edge, or was it the second time? That damned second time shouldn’t have happened. But you didn’t want to regret it, not when it replayed in your head.

“That’s it. Take it all for me.”

“You’re doing so good, baby.”

"Tomándome tan bien."

And a little phrase that went over your head.

“Eres mía.”

Before you knew it, the elevator dinged, and you reached the garage level. You walked out and saw that Javi was there on the left waiting for you.

“I thought you left 20 minutes ago.” You asked, but you didn’t look at him. Not when your eyes were still a little glassy and you didn’t want to be that vulnerable.

“I was, but I waited so I could tail you on the way home.” You fought the urge to roll your eyes. Now he cares. Now he wants to be nice.

“I’m good, Javi. I can take care of myself alright? I have my gun and my knife so there’s no need to worry.” You were beginning to walk off but he caught your wrist and pulled you back.

“There’s sicarios out there. I can’t let you go out there like that.” You finally looked at him and saw his eyes were a little glassy too. Surely you were imagining it. You had to be.

“Why do you care?” Voice trembling, you were letting a wall down with him.

“I…I don’t. I’m just making sure you don’t become the next example for them.” Somehow that beat he took before speaking gave you everything you needed to know.

“You never did this before.”

“I’m not gonna make it a habit.” If he was going to close up, so were you. You took his hand off your wrist and moved back.

“I don’t expect you to. You’re just doing your job I guess.” You regretted asking that question, and your feet were itching to run to your car.

“What do you mean by that?”

“Nothing, Javi. Just go home and leave me be.” Your feet begged to run, but your heart kept you right in place.

“Answer me.”

“I don’t have to. It didn’t mean anything just like none of this means anything.” Tears welled again just as your heart swelled from pain. Why couldn’t you leave? What was seeing him get closer to you, grabbing your hands and interlocking them that made you want more?

“This doesn’t mean anything to you?” He caught your gaze and you couldn’t escape it. You sucked in a breath, savoring it before answering.

“No.”

“You hesitated.” He squeezed your hand and you squeezed back.

“Does it mean anything to you?” You countered.

“Don’t put this on me.” Damn him for calling you out for the reversal.

“You asked.”

“Be honest with me. Did you think about what we did last night at all today?” His voice was softer, the hint of desperation laced in that pulled at your heartstrings.

“Did you?”

“I asked you first.”

“Okay, maybe. Did you?” That maybe held you from admitting it completely, but the glimmer of hope that flashed in his eyes made you realize that it meant something to him.

“All day today. I couldn’t stop.” He was a little breathless, the weight of that finally off his shoulders.

“I thought you didn’t care.” He sighed when you spoke.

“Did you believe me for a second when I said it?”

“I had my doubts but I wasn’t sure. Did you believe me?”

“No. Not then, not now.” He squeezed your hand again, pulling you a little closer. He opened his mouth but closed it just as fast, making you wonder what he wanted to say.

“You’re hesitating on asking me something.” He averted his eyes from you but you caught his gaze again.

“Well if you’re going to dodge the truth I won’t ask.”

“I’ll be honest. I swear.”

“Do you want that to happen again…and more?” The vulnerability in his voice was evident with the pause he took, his voice cracking just enough that you knew you weren’t in this by yourself.

“I do. Do you?”

“Yeah. I do.” That was all you needed to hear before you took the leap. That leap led you to kiss him softly, pouring all those buried feelings into it, knowing that you were finally happy. Happiest with him, even with what would come after. He pulled back but he let go of your hands and put them on your cheeks, rubbing his thumb against them.

“I’m sorry about what I said to you before. I never believed the rumors because you proved yourself. And I’m sorry for what I did earlier with Noonan. You were right about my informant even when I didn’t want to believe it.” Sincerity in his voice and his eyes, you gave him a warm smile that you didn’t know you had in you after all this time being down here.

“It’s okay. And I’m sorry for accusing you of letting things like your informants get in the way of your job. I know we both want the same thing we just have different ways of getting it done.” The smile that was etched onto his face made you smile a little wider, two grinning agents as if they were teens crushing on each other.

“I think we want two things.” You cocked your head to the side as his smile changed into a smirk.

“You sure?” You challenged, and he kissed you again, which was deeper and more passionate. Somehow, you didn’t think you would get enough of his kisses anytime soon.

“Positive.”

“Tail me home then.”

Translations:

Déjandome usar tu coño así - Letting me use your pussy like this.

Dulce - Sweet (you guys should know what mami is LMAO)

Tomándome tan bien - You're taking me so well.

Eres mía - You're mine.

#javier pena smut #javier peña x reader #javier pena fanfiction #javier pena fic #javier peña #javier pena #javier pena x you #javier pena angst #javier pena/reader #narcos #narcos fanfiction #narcos smut #narcos fic #pedropascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #lanawrites #coworkers to lovers #slight enemies to lovers #i say slight because it's not full blown but its there

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cartierdreamx · 1 year

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𝕯𝖊𝖘𝖙𝖎𝖓𝖊𝖉 𝕿𝖔 𝕱𝖆𝖑𝖑 *2*

Hi my sweet ones <333, hope you’re well! Sorry for the little wait but I hope the wait is worth it sooo here’s chapter 2, not much to say but I may have teared up a bit writing this and now as I type this my heart still hasn’t recovered, so I apologise in advance hehe. Anyways, I hope you enjoy and if you do, please consider reblogging, following and commenting! Thank you all for your constant love and support! J <33

If you would like to be apart of a taglist so you know when the next chapter comes out, comment down below or let me know thru asks!! Also please make sure your tags are on, so I’m able to tag you 🫶🏽

Pairings: jenna ortega x fem! Reader

Warnings: angst cityyy, dark themes, swearing, mentions of weapons and violence and murder.

This fic is STRICTLY 18+, as it involves adult themes, minors DNI, you are responsible for your own social media intake, which includes reading entertainment which this fic falls under, so one last warning- this fic is 18+. Thank you!

*though my fics have real people, my fics are just for entertainment and far from reality*

FYI: JENNA IS G!P IN THIS FIC!!

The sting in your eyes was accompanied by an adorning number of buzzes from your phone, annoyed and slightly hangover, mainly from the lack of hydration, because you were no lightweight, you could promise any drinking buddy that, you shove your phone under your pillow, praying that would drown out the buzzing. But, of course, to no avail, whoever or whatever global state of emergency was blowing up your phone, the vibrations so strong, it was tectonic, the buzzes greeted your ears through the bamboo pillow wrapped in silk. Having had enough, you groan and answer a call from Sol.

“Sol, I swear to GOD, someone better be dying.” Your annoyance so clear, it auscultates her ears.

“Y/N! YOU ARE MY STAR GIRL, DYING? THE COMPLETE OPPOSITE EXACTLY.”

Though she can’t see you, confusion paints your face as you slowly sit up and wipe your face, allowing yourself to wipe away the fatigue, after stepping out of Ortega Towers, your little after party consisting of publishing an article, skincare and pyjamas was a blur, in fact, you were so out of it, you considered maybe you hallucinated ever hitting publish. However, the entire masquerade stuck with you, the stench of man who tried to feel up on you left the second you stepped outside for air, but what didn’t was the crown queen of San Francisco, her vanilla essence imprinted on you, so after a night of tossing in turning, no movement could remove her from you. You don’t like it though, and it was ironic, you rejected and blew her off the second you got the chance, but you couldn’t remove her from you. There were fires starting to spark all over your body and the more you deny them, the stronger they burn, funny enough, one grew in your groins. And as repetitive as you sound, you hate it. You hate her. You, hate Jenna?

“What’re you talking about?”

“Oh, don’t act so coy and humble!”

“Sol, I’m like, genuinely serious.” You let out a soft chuckle.

“YOUR ARTICLE, BABES!!, IT BLEW UP, I AM SO PROUD OF YOU, TELL ME EVERYTHING, WAIT NO, GET CHANGED, LET’S GET LUNCH BEFORE WE HEAD INTO WORK. LOVE YOU.”

Without even giving you a chance to breathe, blink or your heart to beat, you hear her hang up, guess you have lunch plans in about 2 hours. Now, about your article, you have no clue what you wrote, only that you couldn’t stop writing the second you sat down, nervousness rivers through your blood, breathing adjacent to your heart rate just thinking about what you wrote, what people think, hell, what Jenna thinks. Oh my God, is she going to kill me? You shake your head trying to rid of that negative thought, Jenna wasn’t like that, she’s above killing innocents, but are you innocent? Mouthing out the last line of your article; … whether it be by her heart, her touch, or her gun, anyone that knows the elusive Ms. Ortega is destined to fall. Your face meets your palm and you’re sure if Jenna or anyone in the family read this, you are sure to meet your maker.

“Wowwww, Jenna, she only knew you for a few hours, but she has every part of you right down to a T.”

Viv giggles as she scrolls through the article, enjoying every little bit of Jenna’s distraught, it was a rare occasion to see the mafia queen like this, and barely anyone could have her like this; a newfound superpower of yours.

“Shut it, Viv, it’s an okay article, and that’s me being generous.”

“I can’t imagine what she’d find out about you if she had stayed for longer.”

“I have no secrets.”

“You’re an idiot if you believe that.”

“Okay, fine, it’s a good article, y/n’s a feisty one.” Jenna finally caves in and shrugs.

“And plus, why do you care about some article?”

“I don’t.”

“Ah, but you do care about her.”

“Shut up, Viv, go make me a coffee.”

Laughter induced tears almost well up Viv’s eyes as she hears Jenna’s commands “oh, buddy she wrote you so good, down to your ego and arrogance, I’m not an assistant, babe, fix your attitude.”

Jenna rolls her eyes at Viv as she blows her a kiss and walks off to complete her long list of errands to complete and maybe some target training later in the day for her own indulgence. Bruce, whose body collected every will to keep silent as he knows he would be putting up with Jenna’s groggy and bitchy attitude all day if she did get riled up enough, but his mental strengths wasn’t as strong as his physicals.

“Bruce, I can see you smirking, knock it off.”

“Sorry, boss.” The 6’8ft, brunette man exclaims, though still smirking.

“You know, you make look and share the same name as Batman, but boy, you sure do lack the mental obedience, quit smirking!” Jenna pouts as she smacks his shoulder, “go scare our shareholders will you, I’ll meet you just before the meeting starts." Bruce chuckles as he leaves Jenna, alone with her thoughts.

And what are her thoughts? You. Rumination isn’t enough to describe how you flood her mind, how you fuel her hunger, how she hates how she doesn’t hate you. But you hate her? As two souls collide, their thoughts are evermore intertwined, and collide was definitely a word you could use to describe the thoughts both of you guys share. What gets her brain twisting the most and her throat closing in is the fact her heart is in denial about what it wants. Jenna would be caught dead before she made herself vulnerable before you made her vulnerable.

She had meetings the entire day but seeing that she’s the ones with guns and glory, no one dare to take her up on being tardy or last-minute cancellations, but despite her arrogant nature, she was respectful, and she was kind to those who deserved it, but even then, her guard was never down.

As her after lunch meeting finishes, she strides up and down the room, looking out into the city, only canvasing confusion on Viv and Bruce’s face.

“Cancel the rest of my meetings, please, Viv. Bruce, take the day off, do whatever you want, I’m heading out.”

Viv and Bruce comply and as Jenna starts heading for the door, Viv can’t help but tease “maybe this time, don’t be a dickhead to y/n, we like her.”

“No promises.”

Allowing the feminine urge to take over, you order a Caesar salad, a huge bowl of fries and a diet coke, such a perfect combo. That, with an extra side of chismosa with Sol, it’s a perfect lunch, however, the topic of gossip was you, you and Jenna that is.

“So, you didn’t hook up with her?” Sol, sighing, sounding deflated and defeated, for some reason she was really rooting for you two, she was so adamant about it.

“Sol, you have some sick delusion running through you, not healthy.” You tsk at her, “besides, I’m sure her sugar bear was enough company.”

Sol gasps so loud out of entertainment she grabs the attention of a few others having lunch. Not wanting people to eavesdrop, you give her a maternal ‘quiet down’ look.

“Oh, don’t give me that look, I’ve been waiting so long to hear this, tell me more.”

As Sol further indulges in your suffering, you slowly start wishing you two had lunch back at the office or your loft, you were sure other lunch goers used you as a source of entertainment.

Back at the office, a warm standing ovation greets you, with everyone’s eyes and smiles lighting up the second they saw you, maybe they are genuinely impressed, but maybe because they’re all about to get a huge payout from the rising popularity of your article, usually rival companies don’t boost each other’s articles, then it wouldn’t be competition, but yours struck the entire nation, the likes of Buzzfeed and TMZ bowed down to you, making articles about your piece of art. However, as much as it was a piece of art, there’s some part of you that felt guilty about pressing publish, maybe the world didn’t have to read about Jenna’s ego in writing, it could’ve just been left untold, you were the one to tell it. Much like Jenna, your day was filled with meetings, but distraction got the best of you, you barely focused and you couldn’t even tell the higher ups what you plan was next, but nevertheless they were highly impressed with you. So impressed, that there was talk about you moving up, career wise.

At the end of your day, exhaustion kisses your body, you were all Jenna’d out, if you had to speak about Jenna one more time, you were sure to implode, not that you had anything against the people asking you, it was a fair thing to be curious about, but, you wish that maybe this was a one-time thing, that she isn’t your shot to success, that she isn’t running your world, that maybe, you would never hear from her again.

“Hello, Ms. L/N.” A familiar voice speaks, the same person who was anonymous with you on that balcony looking out into the skyline was an arm’s reach. But this time, you waste no time in turning around. A big sigh showcases your defeat, so much for never hearing from her again.

“Miss me?” Jenna teases, definitely not missing her, a plan sparks in that sly mind of yours.

“Hey Sol, look I have someone here who is dying to meet the person behind Bayseyes.”

You see Sol’s jaw drop to the ground as her eyes relay the fact that Jenna Ortega is standing in her building to her brain. “No, I don’t miss you.” You chuckle at her, as you head out, if only you turned around to see Jenna’s reaction, it would have made everything all worth it. Though she was fed up with how well you could turn her down, and she’d let it slide, she was impressed at how well you thought on your feet.

As Jenna relays what happened to Viv and Bruce, she swears smoke spills out her ears as they belly laugh at her failure, their knees weak at every word that leaves Jenna’s mouth, Bruce had to hold Viv and himself to make sure they didn’t topple over.

“Whew, Jenna, she has played you in every way, I love this girl, when she coming back?” Viv teases.

“She’s never coming back.”

“Yeah, clearly, your attempts to reel her in is like fishing with a plastic rod.” Bruce adds, Viv’s face lighting up with pride.

“No, she’s not welcome here.”

“Mhmhm, the same way she’s not welcome in your heart.”

“No, I kicked her out.”

“AH HAH, so you admit she was in your heart.”

“WHAT, NO.”

“Boss…” Bruce cringes.

“WHATEVER, I’M LEAVING.”

The same record plays as she leaves the room, Bruce and Viv hysterically laughing trying to figure out the badass you are.

The next day, it was all the same, this time, Jenna waited for you outside the building with a black Porsche behind her as she leans. As it was all the same, the rejection was no different, blowing her off again as you strut the other way, making sure Jenna saw you roll your eyes at her, more rejection, more laughter and taunts from Viv and Bruce.

3rd times the charm is the saying, yet not everyone is proven to be successful, Jenna was one of them, it was irking her and getting under her skin that she couldn’t bag you, but no matter how much you frustrated her, she would never admit she wants you, she’d lay a blanket over her feelings for you, hiding it as she wants you within her reach so she, herself can make you bleed, the same way you did. But maybe she does want that, maybe all she wants is to see you fall, you don’t know who she is, but she seems to know who you are, well, what she could find out about you. But funny enough, her level of power doesn’t get her through to your hidden files. It was redacted, and not even you knew about them.

Number 4 took a different approach, this time she asks Sol for help, begging her to get you to meet her, and as much as Sol wants to, and trust your gut, she wants to, so bad, her loyalty to you was no match for Jenna, Sol turns Jenna away, and to add a cherry on top, you recruited help from a colleague of yours, he was very handsome, and a gentleman, so you two played pretend in front of Jenna’s eyes, arms linked with laughter filling the barely visible gap between the two of you. This fuelled the fire burning in her chest, a feeling she had never felt before, jealousy, and jealousy is a bitch. Jealousy caged Jenna, how could this feeling make the most powerful woman in America bend at her knees, how could you make the most powerful woman in America suffer with every inch of her. You, y/n, you are the indulgence of her soul but the starvation of her heart. Jenna’s first instinct was to hurt you, hurt him, how could he kiss the cheek of her woman? You’re not her woman. Murder was on the table for him, and torment was on yours. Anything to ease her suffering, but she couldn’t, she can’t, as much as she wants to, and as much as she could do it with ease, you breathing was more important.

Maybe day 5 would be different, you thought as the clock hands strike 6pm, and so you were right, instead of being greeted with the ever-greedy Ms. Ortega, you were met with Viv’s warm embrace and Bruce’s masculine yet warm stature.

“Jenna’s getting her right hands to do her dirty work?”

Viv and Bruce share a smile, “as much as we love to see her wallow in doubt and pity, and finally see her humbled, you’re killing her.”

“And how is that any different to when she has a gun to someone’s head?”

“We know, she deserves it, but, for us could you consider not torturing her?”

“Look, you guys seem so nice and a very lovely pair, but I’m only doing this because she won’t stop, and I’m sure doing this would be a lot more efficient than telling her to stop, and honestly, I’m surprised I’m even alive right now.”

“Y/N,” a solemn tone escapes Viv, “she’s not like that, you know.”

“I don’t, I don’t know, and like you heard me say before, how could I let her in if she’s everything I stand against. We are two opposing forces, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t you want to know?” Bruce steps in.

“Guys, there are plenty of women out there who wants Jenna.”

“Yeah, but none of them are you.”

“And none of them will be me, I’ll delete the article if it’ll help, but I’m sure everyone has their copies, I’m sorry, I didn’t want it to be like this, I didn’t want to attend the ball.”

“No, it’s okay, don’t apologise, we’re sorry it had to be like this, but we’ll leave you be, we’ll talk to Jenna.”

“Thank you,” giving Viv a warm hug, possibly being the last hug, you’ll ever give her and Bruce a kiss on the cheek, more than you’ve given Jenna.

As you leave, Viv turns to Bruce “oh someone is so getting hurt at tonight’s mission.”

He chuckles, “you know how she copes.”

Finally, a chance to breathe and relax, you were out shopping, giving yourself a self-care day filled with everything you needed after the stressful week you just had. Sol wanted to accompany you, hoping to cheer you up, but you reassured her you’ll be fine and that this was something you had to do on your own. Walking past the dress boutiques, a dress similar to your masquerade dress catches your eyes and you can’t help but stop and admire it, but truthfully, the dress reminded you of her, of Jenna, you hate to admit it but there was some part of you that missed her adamant tries at winning you over.

“It’s pretty dress, but nothing compares to what you wore that night.” A voice you know all too well.

“Jenna…” A sigh of defeat leaves your lips.

“I know, I know, I’m sorry, I just had to see you, y/n.”

“Are you stalking me now?” Genuine question.

“No, no, I was out shopping, well, yes, I had to shop but I knew you frequent here so I took a chance.”

You let out a soft giggle, “I’m not even going to question how you know that but okay, you have me.”

“If I had you, we wouldn’t be here.”

You smile, not knowing what to say, your heart almost breaks for her, you’ve never seen her raw like this, almost as if you make her vulnerable.

“Look, I just want to say I’m sorry, for everything, for every arrogant remark, for every uncomfortable situation I put you in, for playing games with you, for sending Viv and Bruce to do my dirty work, for wanting you, y/n.”

“Jenna,” you grab her hand and caress it, hoping it relieves some of her pain, and maybe now your brain will believe she’s being genuine, and as much as your heart wanted to hold her, you know you can’t. “It takes a lot to apologise, so thank you.”

“It’s no problem, but uh, I know I shouldn’t, but I’d hate myself if I didn’t take this chance, maybe I could take you out to dinner? Apology dinner, on me.”

“Heh, that’s sweet of you to offer, but I’m sorry, I can’t, take Viv and Bruce out for me instead.” You smile at her, trying so hard not to tear up, feeling that choking feeling build up in your throat.

“Do you hate me?” That same question, she asked you that very first night.

“Again?”

“Y/N, tell me you hate me, it’ll make getting over you a whole lot easier, knowing you hate me is a better outcome than knowing you don’t, because if you don’t, my chance of you, my chance of us was out there, but my hands were not strong enough to grasp it, maybe I made the wrong deal with the universe, I don’t want to live a life where we could’ve been, just tell me that you hate me, please, y/n, please.”

If your heart didn’t break before, your heart definitely broke now, this was her, this was Jenna, raw and vulnerable, you wanted to speak, but it seems there was a stronger force out there that withheld you from speaking, instead, you lay your soft hand on her cheek, wiping away a lone tear, so close to Jenna’s lips you could feel her breathing. As she closes her eyes and leans in ever so slightly, you let go, leaving her with a maybe.

Too broken to look at you, Jenna offers “at least let me take you home, it’s getting dark, I know you didn’t drive here, and I know how dangerous the streets can be at this time.”

“I’ll be okay, Jen.”

Maybe it was the right choice, maybe your actions will have consequences.

Too lost in your own world, thinking about what happened between you and Jenna, you don’t notice the looming figure behind you, Jenna occupying you so deeply, you didn’t realise they’ve been following you since you left the mall. Lucky for you, walking past a closed shop with windows out the front, you’re able to see a dark figure behind you, you quickly decipher the figure being a man, but his face is covered so you don’t recognise him. As your heartbeat quickens, so do your steps, actively trying to lose him, you take a sharp turn into an alley, bad mistake. A breath of relief and fatigue exists your lungs as you turn and see he’s not behind you anymore. But.

“Think you could get away from me that easily?” The man appears in front of you, making you jump, but leaving you stuck in place, too scared to run. As you scan his face, your heart sinks, making the connection that this is the same man from the ball, the same one who was harassing you, but Jenna had him thrown out.

“Yeah, now that pretty face remembers me.”

“Please, just let me go, I’ll give you money, is that what you want?”

He scoffs, grabbing your wrist so tight, he may be cutting off circulation. “I don’t care about money, they pay me enough, what I want is you, I want you to hurt.” Suddenly, a sharp sting numbs your face as he slaps you with all his might, knocking you off your feet, you scream.

“That’s right, scream, bitch.” Kicking you in the abdomen, making you give into his wants, screaming more.

“Please.”

“No point in begging now.” He kicks twice more before picking you up by your shirt, you too much in pain to even look at him in the eyes, but the pain would keep going, he holds you up against the brick wall and starts going in for punches, left and right, your nose starts bleeding, you’re sure your ribs are broken, every punch, slap and kick was multiplied by 10, he kept on going, no matter how much you screamed, he didn’t listen.

“Where’s Jenna now? That’s right, she’s not here, can’t go running to her for help.” He was right, you can’t go running for help, you couldn’t, maybe you should’ve gone with her, maybe you should’ve never pushed her away, tears run down your face joining the splatters of your blood on the concrete ground. He starts thrashing you around, making sure every part of you is bloodied, broken, and bruised. “Scream her name, I want her to know you screamed for her, but she was nowhere to be found.”

You were sure you were going to pass out, instead flashing lights come by, there was hope, but that was short lived when you realise it was a large SUV instead of a police car.

“JAMESON, what do you think you’re doing.”

“Sir, I did what you told me.”

“I told you to scare her, not beat her to a pulp.”

“I got carried away.”

“Evidently, I ought to give you to Jenna for this.”

“But she’s your rival, sir?”

“Yeah, but you beat her girl up to a pulp, I don’t need her coming for me just yet, and plus, she’s the key to breaking down Jenna’s walls, making her vulnerable, seeing that you nearly killed the key, you nearly ruined it for us.”

“I apologise Mr. Marcello.”

“Mr. Marcello is my father and uncle, you know better.”

“I’m sorry, Gio.”

“Now, I gotta clean up your mess, hop in the car, killing you now would be a mercy compared to what Ms. Ortega would do to you, oh and drag her in the car.”

“Yes sir, are you going to give me to Jenna?”

“Considering it, if you don’t shut up, it’ll be a yes,” now turning to you, your barely functioning body with a tremendous number of cuts, scrapes, and bruises, “you Ms. L/N are fascinating, who are you and why do you have Ms. Ortega wrapped around your little finger.” Your eyes lacked the ability to focus, and your mind was fighting to stay awake, and you barely heard the conversation between the two men, so it made it hard to figure out who was with you, staying alive was the one thing on your mind. And in this moment, the scariest moment of your life, you doubted life would be in you, once he lays you on the seats, your fight with your mind was over, you pass out, not knowing where they were taking you.

As your eyes focus on what was in front of you, the familiar rooted buildings jumpstarted adrenaline, with indomitable human spirit and a bit of delusion, you somehow make it to the entrance of Ortega Towers. As you collapse the second you drag yourself through the doors, you hear Viv scream.

“Y/N?!! OH MY GOD.”

She rushes towards you cradling you in her arms, begging you to stay awake, to stay with her.

“YOU, GO GET JENNA NOW.” She yells at a young associate.

“But she said she doesn’t want to be disturbed.” He was scared to go up to Jenna and let her know of the situation, fair enough, she’s a scary woman and even scarier to the newbies.

“I DON’T CARE, I’LL TAKE THE HEAT, TELL HER Y/N IS HURT.” He rushes off with speed and not even 3 minutes later, Jenna came running down, you hear her yell something, but your body was on lockdown mode, nothing was working, nothing was focusing. All you know is that you’re in pain.

As Jenna takes over for Viv, so Viv can get medical help, she cradles you. “Hey, hey, y/n, stay with me, okay? Stay with me, please.” She strokes your hair, trying so hard to not let the tears fall, you couldn’t see her like this. No one can. Luckily, Bruce and his crew of soldiers was able to escort everyone out.

You want to, you want to keep your eyes open, but your body was winning this round, and if this is where you’ll die, at least you were in the arms of Jenna. With all your might, you muster up to speak once more.

“I hate you, Jenna.”

“I know.”

Thank you so much for your support <3 I hope you enjoyed! 🦦

hehe sorry about the angst, I think this is one of the most angstsiest shit i’ve ever written, and shout out to @lonelym00n cus she had to endure getting tortured as r and getting tortured as herself 😭 (she’s viv).

it is 5am where im at, im going to sleep, goodnight 🤝

TAGLIST: @somegaybae @omega-horus @lonelym00n @dksjskx @lazyturtle0-0 @jess-1-e @zaclewiss @lostgirl1415 @pitifulbinx @talialeih @amessbian @iamthewoe @aiakuma @user173781 @darkwolf1623 @dvrkhcld

#destined to fall #jenna ortega #jenna ortega x reader #jenna ortega x y/n #jenna ortega x you #wednesday x reader #wednesday adams x reader #wednesday addams #tara carpenter x reader #vada cavell x reader #tara carpenter #jenna ortega x fem!reader #jenna ortega x female reader #jenna ortega x reader angst

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